


Seasons Of My Life

by yhk



Series: Landslide [3]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anxiety Disorder, But Not Really A Love Story, Could Be Pimms, Depends on what the reader wants, Drug Addiction, Eric "Bitty" Bittle and Jack Zimmermann Breakup, Gen, Jack Zimmermann Personal and Emotional Growth, Jack Zimmermann and Kent "Parse" Parson growth of friendship, Jack Zimmermann and Therapy, M/M, POV Jack Zimmermann
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-20 16:49:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 38,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16559513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yhk/pseuds/yhk
Summary: Jack went online and ordered a copy of his old college poster that stated simply, “Be Better”. When he received it a couple of days later, he hung it up in his bedroom so that it would again be the first thing he would see when he woke up.He found the stark message comforting. He had a purpose everyday with that poster. He knew what to do, what to strive for every time he awoke. In the past couple of years, he forgot that directive; and now, his life was aimless, wandering, tenuous. He needed the firm hand of the stern command of the poster’s directive.Well, I need to Be Better, he vowed. And I will now.*********Or, Jack grows and gains strong friends.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> \-- Trigger Warnings: Anxiety attack. If you can't read it, skip the area after the asterisks. Also, there's a description of drug addiction at the very end of the chapter (also after the asterisks). Please don't read if it will cause you harm. (You're much more important than this story!)  
> \-- The beginning of the third and final part of this series. If I add anything else to "Landslide", they'll be AUs of this AU.  
> \-- Jack may not seem very likeable at first. I hope that you stick with this, as he changes for the better.  
> \-- This is all Jack's POV. His interpretation of his past and present relationships, especially with Eric Bittle, differ greatly, especially if you read the previous story of this series. I wanted to illustrate how important communication is in any sort of relationship, and how far he and Eric drifted apart (no thanks to Jack's emotional and mental shut-out, and Bitty's tendency to avoid direct conflicts.)  
> \-- The story begins 2-3 weeks after Eric graduated from Samwell.  
> \-- No beta. All errors, grammatical and factual, are mine.

It was the beginning of June. It had been a couple of weeks since Bittle left Providence and moved to New York City. While Jack personally thought researching was not Bittle’s forte based on his abysmal study habits at Samwell, Eric seemed happy enough with his Food Network job. He certainly tweeted and emoticoned enough about it.

When Jack picked up Bittle at Samwell back in May on that horrible, revelatory day of graduation, Bitty ended their relationship amidst the stillness of the Haus. Bittle decided it was best to break up, based on something Lardo said, about giving up dreams, and paths, and space, and whatever other new-age crystal touchy-feely bullshit she had spouted to Bittle.

_No. That’s not fair to either Lardo and Bittle._

Really, the only substantive take Jack got from that messy conversation was that Bittle still loved him, adored him, but also wanted to take a chance on his dream job. And so they had a last hurrah, so to speak, for a couple of weeks, (although there was a day when Bits flew to New York for a final interview) and both Bitty and Jack ignored the guest bedroom while Eric was in Providence.

After Bittle drove away in the sunset -- rather, it was sunrise -- with the U-Haul truck, filled with most of Jack’s kitchenware (he was never going to use them; he still couldn’t make a proper pie crust and a lattice topping was still more elusive than an intelligent orange president), Jack went online and ordered a copy of his old college poster that stated simply, “Be Better”. When he received it a couple of days later, he hung it up in his bedroom so that it would again be the first thing he would see when he woke up.

Shitty and Bittle hated that poster and burned it right before he finished Samwell with more pomp and ceremony than actual graduation. However, Jack found the stark message comforting. He had a purpose everyday with the message. He knew what to do, what to strive for every time he awoke. In the past couple of years, he forgot that directive; and now, his life was aimless, wandering, tenuous. He needed the firm hand of the stern command of the poster’s directive.

_Well, I need to Be Better. And I will now._

 

 

 

As he sat on his bed, mere minutes after he put up his poster, he thought of that eye-opening meeting with George, back in May.

_The morning of the day of Bittle’s graduation found Jack in George’s office. The day before, she explicitly commanded him, “You will not miss this meeting. You will be there, and I don’t give a damn if you have anything else to do.” While things had been somewhat tense with George, it wasn’t bad enough that he would normally get that tone of voice from her._

_“Jack,” Georgia nodded when he entered her office._

_“Hi, George, what’s up?”_

_She grabbed a piece of paper on her desk and looked at him with steely resolve. “The Falconers’ upper management decided that their image needs to be restored. Before you came out, we were seen as a very positive, open and inclusive team that would welcome any LGBT+ player. We financially contributed to and attended Providence’s Gay Pride Parade every year. We sent players and donations to “You Can Play” events. We had a mentor program that matched players with at-risk youth, which included queer teens. While we were discreet enough so that any homophobic fan could ignore our efforts for inclusivity, we were public enough in our efforts so that we developed a small, but growing fanbase amongst the gay and supportive straight market._

_“However, after you came out, those efforts fell by the wayside. We needed you to be the Falconers’ representative in showing inclusivity amongst not only our team, but also the league itself. Instead, you completely ignored PR’s careful efforts on gay representation at the Stanley Cup presser by giving  an off-the-cuff comment that not only turned off our target market, but also the LGBT+ audience. Furthermore, the only positive publicity you did that summer was a photo of you at Gay Pride with the rainbow flag behind you. That was, frankly, not enough, especially because you then left the United States right after your Cup day instead of doing any sort of good PR for the Falconers over the summer. By the time you came back, Kent Parson was headline news, and any sort of positive press for you had turned sour.”_

_“Uh, well, at least things cooled down, eh?” Jack tried to joke._

_George looked even less pleased. “Jack, things have not cooled down. There are still Falconers players who are requesting trades. News about gay teens running away or being hospitalized because of your off-the-script comment are now gaining attention. Our ticket sales and sponsorships are still down, and profits from merch sales are a joke. If things continue the way they go, there may not be a Falconers team in a couple of years.”_

_“Wait. What do you mean gay teens are being hospitalized or running away?” he asked._ Why hadn’t I heard about this before?

_Georgia gave him a strange look. “Your parents didn’t tell you? The Zimmermann Foundation and the NHL paid off a couple families for NDAs, so I’m positive Bad Bob knows.”_

_Jack was speechless. He looked at George with shocked, wide eyes. He couldn’t get any words out past the sudden lump in his throat_. Wait. That friend of Kent’s in Las Vegas. What Kenny wrote in that letter, about how he knew one of my victims. They’re making horrifying sense.

_As she watched him, she added more gently, “Okay, Jack. I’ll tell you.” She looked down, taking a breath before meeting his eyes again. “After your kiss and your ‘Don’t Be Afraid’ remark, more teens came out, because of your words or because they were inspired by you. We don’t know the exact number, but some of those children were hospitalized for injuries – we assume they were beaten or abused by classmates or family members for being queer – or for depression or attempted suicide. Other kids ran away from their homes, as there was a surge of homeless teens for a good couple of months after the Stanley Cup presser.”_

What did that girl say? I’m a killer of baby gays _? Jack croaked out, “Did anyone die?”_

_Georgia sighed. She looked down again, shoulders slumped, as she placed the paper in her hands on her desk. She rubbed her forehead for a bit, before looking back up, back straight, and again meeting his eyes as she affirmed, “Yes, Jack. We know of at least two children. One had a successful suicide; the other was beaten to death.”_

_“And it was because of what I did and said.” He stated dumbly, determining his culpability._

_“Yes. The suicide letter was fairly clear; the other had a close confidant who verified that you inspired the victim to come out.”_

_“And my father and the league gave the involved families a payout to not talk with any news media.” Jack felt sick._

_“Yes.”_

 

 

****************************************** 

_Jack didn’t really remember the rest of the meeting. He vaguely recalled Georgia’s plans of him being in the public eye more by giving interviews, attending highly publicized events, stating carefully-curated  announcements, and even participating in some game with a gay hockey team?_ (I didn’t even know they existed); _he agreed to all of it. All of it. He needed to make up for his egregious refusal of responsibility this past year._

Crisse, _he despaired,_ Two kids are dead because of me. Because all I wanted to do was play hockey. All I wanted was to give affection to Bittle without hiding it. That was all I wanted to do, so I ignored everyone and everything else. And now two teens, two children, who will never grow old to fall in love with their own Bittles nor play their own hockey, are dead because I didn’t want to deal with the publicity. Fuck. Fuck.

_He mechanically drove to his apartment, robotically driving five miles under the speed limit as usual (“You drive like an old man,” Bittle once commented). He grabbed a Gatorade from the fridge. Downing the contents, he set the empty bottle on the counter. He stood stock still as the loud and thunderous silence filled his ears. He could feel his breath getting shorter as the lump in his throat grew larger, blocking his airway._ I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.

_He grabbed his phone somehow and pressed on the name at the top of his recent call list. As he crouched to the ground, desperately trying to get air in his lungs, he could vaguely hear a familiar voice command: “Breathe, sweetheart.”_

_“Breathe. I’ll count. Inhale, one, two, three, four. Hold. Exhale, one, two, three, four.”_

_Inhale._

_One, two, three, four._

_Hold._

_Exhale._

_One, two, three, four._

_Repeat._

_Inhale._

_One, two, three, four._

_Hold._

_Exhale._

_One, two, three, four._

_Repeat._

_Repeat._

_Repeat._

_After what felt like forever, he rasped out, “Okay, I’m fine.” He looked at his phone and saw that he called Maman. “Merci, I’m okay.”_

_He could hear her concern as she asked, “What brought this on, sweetheart? You’ve been having quite a bit more of your attacks for the past year. I’m worried.”_

_“I’m sorry, Maman. I can’t talk now but I’ll call later. I need to head out to pick up Bittle, today was his graduation.”_

_Pause. “All right, dear. Will you text me tonight so I know you’re okay?”_

_“Oui.”_

_“Thank you, Jack. I love you.”_

_“I love you, too.”_

_As he could feel his heart slow from its rapidity and his ears acknowledging the inexorable tick of the wall clock after he hung up, he stood, hands splayed on the counter, pressing his clammy palms against the coolness of the marble._

_In the quiet of his body existing, being, in the middle of his clean, antiseptic, air-conditioned model kitchen, he again had the irresistible, messy, mad impulse to take more of his pills. The need had started, shortly after he kissed Bittle at the Cup win, an innocuous wispy seed, from the many always floating around his head, always beckoning to his baser needs – one had finally been newly planted, watered by his tears that were shed during panic attack and panic attack and panic attack. As time grew, the seed, fortified by anxiety, by stress, by the fucking faulty wiring of his brain, matured, now ready to bloom and release its sticky-sweet toxic pollen, promising that if he just take one more pill, two more pills, ten more pills, he'll be more calm, he'll handle the stress better, he'll be more functional._

_Amidst those insidious promises, Jack thought,_ I need to go get Bittle.

_As usual, he continued to ignore the extra pills in his bathroom, despite their allure._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack thinks a lot of the past season.

It was a couple of days after Eric had left. Jack woke up at his customary time to go for his early morning run. As he got into his rhythmic groove after his warm-up, he let his thoughts drift, and revisited more of the past couple of weeks.

_When they arrived at Jack’s apartment late at night after his meeting with Georgia, Jack repeated the conversation to Eric, talking more in-depth about the dead boys and the pay-off. Eric didn’t say much in response, other than, “Oh my lord, those poor boys, those poor boys”, as tears welled up in his eyes. Jack knew that Eric would feel just as guilty as he, and would blame himself; after all, Bittle was the one who pushed, albeit very gently, into that kiss._

Still, regardless of Bittle pushing for that kiss, Jack had agreed to do it, so he was just as culpable, probably even more.

Jack was the one in the public eye. (He made sure Bittle was kept out of the media shitstorm, thanks to the Falconers’ PR.) Jack could have done more, should have done more. After all, what could Bittle, a former captain of a weak NCAA hockey team, a college student-now-fresh-grad with unremarkable grades, a pie-obsessed-baker, most-likely Food Network-researcher do? Jack knew that he was had more power to control and manipulate the media. Bittle would be adrift, a helpless little fish in a sea of vicious sharks.

But he resented Bittle, a little bit. This past season, Bits expected him to be happy, to be cheerful and fulfilled. “I can give 100% to myself and my team now that I’m out!” he once declared.

But Bittle didn’t realize that the opposite was true for Jack. Bittle didn’t hear “faggot” and “cocksucker” under the breaths of other players before being viciously checked for committing the crime for loving who he loved. Bittle didn’t see, in the away games, the multiple hordes of fans with banners stating “God Hates Queers”, or other similar ilk, and the ugly cheers that would erupt from their ugly mouths when he would get illegally whacked or shoved, which would be ignored by the refs. Bittle had no idea about the silence and blame and disgust his other teammates had in their words, their eyes, their actions, when they would look at Jack, as they drifted further and further away until they felt like they were miles ahead of him as he was left behind. 

Bittle didn’t know about how all of Jack’s achievements were now eclipsed by his sexuality. He wasn’t just a good hockey player anymore. He was a gay hockey player who happened to excel in his sport. Newscasters would not _shut up_ about how he was the first hockey player to come out. They would not stop harping on how a gay player made the cup-winning goal. _I’m a good hockey player who happens to be bi. Crisse, what is so difficult about figuring that out?_ he bitterly thought.

Bittle didn’t know about the times, the random moments, when he would find a bathroom and call Maman to help him do something as fundamental as breathing. Bittle didn’t know about the siren call he kept hearing, louder and louder, that came from his canister of meds.

_It’s not Bittle’s fault. I know this. I also kissed him. It’s not his fault._ That had become Jack’s prayer for the past season.

But it was hard, increasingly difficult to respond to Bittle as the season went on. Bittle expected smiles. Bittle expected long, thoughtful responses to his mindless babble. Jack had multiple urges to grab Bittle by the shoulders and scream, “You ruined everything! Just shut up! Shut the fuck up!”

(In quieter moments, Jack wondered, sadly, how Bittle’s chatter stopped being so sweetly charming and how gratingly irritating it became.)

Jack quickly realized his short yeses, nos, and grunts satisfied Bittle’s need for reciprocity. Jack knew that he really couldn’t say much more, or else the damaging words of resentfulness and rage would force themselves out and rip apart that gossamer, light-filled love into shreds of bloody flesh. _The sad part,_ Jack once thought during some Bittle garrulity, _is that Bits doesn’t even seem to notice._

 

 

 

That afternoon, as he waited in George’s office for another round of commands, he idly thought of a conversation he had with Bitty that same night he talked about the dead boys.

_“So Kent was right, and so was his friend,” Jack said, as Bittle sat on the sofa, still in tears._

_“Yeah, so what? Should we give him an award? And he didn’t save all of them, did he?” Bittle spit out._

_“You’re right, he didn’t, but he’s trying to save other kids now. And we didn’t do a goddamn thing. I didn’t do a goddamn thing.”_

_“You’re right in that we didn’t, but we didn’t know! Maybe we should saint Parson. Fucking Saint Kent Parson,” he vindictively sniped._

_“Crisse, Bittle, why do you hate him so much? He never did anything to you,” asked Jack, incredulous._

_“And why are you standing up for him so much? I thought you hated him, too! He said such cruel things to you at Epikegster, Jack! You didn’t want him back, and now you’ve been defending him? What the hell?” hollered Eric, quickly losing control of his composure._

_“Why do you care what I say about him? It doesn’t matter! We don’t talk anymore! He doesn’t even hate me! That’s how indifferent and unimportant I am to him!” Jack yelled back._

_“But he was your first love, Jack! We were supposed to be forever! We were supposed to be each other’s first loves, but he took that away from me!” screamed Eric, before he burst into more tears._

In truth, Jack felt mostly relieved that they were breaking up. He didn’t want to deal with Bittle’s naivety on top of all the other shit in his life.

_Was Bittle always in that bubble of his? Did he always believe that we lived in a Disney princess movie?_ Jack scoffed inwardly. _So does that make me the generic hockey robot prince? Yes, and Bittle’s the Beyonce-singing princess, dancing around, holding pies and talking to frogs wearing jerseys and croaking “’swawesome”. And Kent’s the evil villain that I need to slay with a hockey stick sword to save Princess Bittle for his “Happy Ever After”._

He spitefully laughed a little, imagining the absurdity of it all.

Kenny. Jack’s mind drifted to him. He missed Kent, surprisingly.

During that night of the Cup kiss, Jack felt vaguely bad for not warning Kenny about it and meant to text him, giving him a heads up. However, he forgot about Kent during the raucous, hastily-improvised Cup party at his apartment.

He _had_ heard ambiguous rumors about Kent’s retirement being forced because of his sexuality, soon after he got back from France, but he never got around to see if they were true. That package Kenny sent to his parent’s house was completely unexpected, and frankly, the first time in during the season that Jack even thought of him. He found it on his desk when he and Bits visited Montreal during the holidays.

After he opened the box and examined the contents, Jack stealthily brought everything back to Providence. He didn’t show Bittle. _This was both mine and Kenny’s. It would be wrong to let someone outside of us to see. This was Kenny’s and Zimms’. Zimms and Kenny. And they’re both gone, now, and this is all that I have left of them._ Jack’s possessive thoughts astonished him.

_Huh. Why do I feel so… empty? After all, Kent finally let go of me. And that’s what I wanted, right?_

And yet, he found his thoughts drift to Kent Parson frequently after that package. He found that he couldn’t help but think of his time spent with Kenny during those hazy, perfect days right before the catastrophic Draft. He found that whenever he thought of Kent and the bitter, bitter words he hurled when Kenny visited him with the Stanley Cup, and when Jack ghosted him, and when Jack refused, absolutely refused to acknowledge the existence of Kenny-and-Zimms, how… how ashamed, how embarrassed, how prickly he felt, now.

He knew that he owed Kent as many apologies, if not more, for not just for their past, but also for inadvertently causing Kent’s forced retirement. (He finally confirmed that it was not voluntary, as he had recently asked George.)  

Jack only wished Kent responded back to his too-little, too-late apology he finally sent in January.

_He really meant it when he wrote “goodbye”._ And Jack felt like he was being left behind again. And his hand drifted to his empty pocket as he thought of his medication, waiting for him back in his bathroom cabinet.

_No. I will not go back that road again. No. Be Better._

_Be Better._

He was thankful to be in George’s office instead of at home, where his meds waited for him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack talks to his parents.

A week after Bittle left, Jack had no more excuses. He needed to call Papa and Maman. Obviously, they knew about the deaths; but why didn’t they tell him about them? He was not a child anymore, not like he was after the Draft. And why didn’t Kent tell him?

After he dialed Papa’s number, Jack, waiting for him to pick up, decided to grab a Gatorade and sit on his mostly empty couch. ( _Bittle wanted the throw pillows so I let him take them but why? -- I’m sure New York has Pier One Imports, or something similar._ )

“Hello?”

“Hi, Papa, do you and Maman have a moment?”, Jack asked, while he put his drink on his coffee table and switched his phone to speaker. He hoisted his legs on the couch and grabbed his throw ( _No way would I let Bits take the blanket; I’m glad I insisted on keeping it_ ) to use as a makeshift pillow for his head while he lay down.

“Jack! Of course, we always have time for you. Let me get Maman. Alicia! Alicia, it’s Jack,” as he called for her.

“Hello, Jack! How are you?” asked Maman after a short pause. _They must have put me on speaker as well_ , he thought.

“I have something to ask you both.”

“Okay, Jack, we promise we’ll be honest.” _But will they, really?_

“Um, I was told that my coming out, and uh, my comment about not being afraid during the Cup presser triggered, ah, a wave of teens outing themselves,” he started.

“Oh.” From Papa. “And what are you asking, exactly?”

“I was told that, uh, it wasn’t done well. Um, there was an increase in hospitalizations. Um, teen runaways grew for after the presser. And… and, two teens… died,” Jack quietly ended the sentence.

A very soft “Yes,” from Papa.

“And the NHL and, ah, the Zimmermann Foundation gave, ah, contributions to the families of the children who died, in exchange for NDAs,” continued Jack.

Again, silence before Maman bit out, “Eric told you, didn’t he?”

“What?” _What? What does Bittle have to do with this?_

“Eric told you about our conversation with Kent Parson during the last Falconers game, didn’t he? How else could you know?” insisted Maman, getting angry. “Eric promised _me_ he wouldn’t mention anything. Is he there right now? I would like to speak with him privately,” she insisted.

“Maman, we broke up. We broke up recently and he’s living in New York. Regardless, I found out from Falconers management. Eric mentioned nothing. Crisse, did everyone know but me? Why wouldn’t anyone tell me? Fuck,” he angrily responded. _Why the hell was Bittle keeping this from me? Why was Parson? Why wouldn’t anyone tell me anything?_

After another short intake of breath, Maman started with, “Jack, oh Jack, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry about your break up. I can fly down there on the next flight,” she soothingly responded.

“No! No, no, I’m fine, it was a mutual decision and honestly, inevitable. There is no need at all for either of you to visit.”

Jack resumed in a quieter voice, “But Papa, Maman, we’re getting off the subject. Were you ever going to tell me about the dead children? Did you intend to keep me in the dark about all of this? Are there other deaths that no one knows about yet? Is there anything else that you’ve been doing to keep me ignorant of these things? Why didn’t you tell me? Why. Didn’t. You. Tell. Me?” Jack voice grew louder as he kept on, until he finally roared the last word.  

Again, there was a tense hush before Papa finally answered. “Jack, I love you. You were so happy with Eric. I never saw you that content. I needed to protect that joy, and I was afraid that if you knew about the fall-out after your public kiss, that you’d lose that happiness and love. So no, I didn’t tell you. I took care of it instead. I know you never wanted to publicly advocate for gay rights, and so I am doing all I can so that you can just play hockey and be with whoever you love.”

Jack sighed. “Papa, Maman, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I’m almost twenty-seven years old. I’m old enough to deal with the consequences of what I’ve done. You don’t have to protect me anymore. In fact, I _don’t_ want you to protect me anymore. Papa, two teenagers died because of what I did. They died. They’re gone. They can’t come back. And that’s my fault. I need to take responsibility for the deaths. And you can’t take that responsibility from me.”

Maman tenderly murmured, “Jack. Jack. We love you. We almost lost you during the Draft. We know it was mostly Parson’s fault, but we were also to blame. We didn’t notice how difficult things had become. We didn’t see how destructive and isolating your relationship with Parson was. After you almost died, I decided, _we_ decided to be the best parents we could ever be.”

“No, let me go on, Jack,” as he tried to interrupt. She continued firmly. “No, I do not regret keeping this from you. Your panic attacks have increased, Jack, so I know things are difficult for you again. We didn’t know if their deaths would have pushed you over the line again.”

Her voice rose as she added, “I will not ever be put in a position again where I have to hear that I almost lost my son, that my son’s heart _stopped_ and was dead for a minute. I will do anything to prevent that from ever occurring again. So no, I don’t regret keeping quiet about their deaths. It’s the right thing for us to do.”

“Maman,” Jack started. “Maman, it wasn’t Kent’s fault. It was inevitable that I overdosed. I was such a mess, then and Kenny prevented the OD from happening even sooner than it did. He kept me alive, and it’s wrong that you blame Kenny for that time, when he did much more for me than you realize.”

He carried on, “At the same time, that OD was not your fault, either. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, really. My brain is just wired the way it is, and no one knew, especially then, the way to correct that wiring. And now I’m different, so different than when I was nineteen. I now know what my triggers are, and how to handle my anxiety. I’m on correct medication. Back when I was nineteen, I didn’t know anything, how to handle myself, how to handle my anxiety, and I was on the wrong meds. So you don’t have to worry about me being ‘pushed’ over the line. I know, now, what to do if I get triggered.”

 

 

 

The phone call went for a tedious hour, a cyclical repeat of the same thing – Papa and Maman: “It’s all Kent’s fault you OD’ed, but we’re also to blame and so we’re going to make up for that lapse by overprotecting you”; Jack: “Kent kept me from ODing even sooner, and it’s not his fault nor yours, and I’ve also grown up and have the skills that I’ve learned in the past seven years to manage my fucked-up brain”.

Jack finally came up with a flimsy excuse – “Need to go, uh, get ready for a press… event... thing.” – and hung up.

He sighed. Rubbed his eyes. For the first time in his adulthood, he wished his parents weren’t so involved with his life. _Normal parents golf or attend spas with other aging celebrities after they retire. My parents need to be different, though, and decide their hobby is to micromanage my life as much as they can. Crisse. Maybe I should gift them a dog or two for Christmas. Maybe that’ll distract them from me._

He walked to his bathroom. He opened his medicine cabinet. There was that fucking bottle of his meds. He stood there for a minute, an hour, days and weeks and years before he closed the door, leaving the cabinet’s contents pristine and untouched.

_Be Better. Be Better. Be Better._

That night he stuffed his ears with the soothing sounds of a history documentary to ignore the call of the pills.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack gets a makeover, makes up with Tater, goes to a party and gets help from an unlikely source.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-- TRIGGER WARNING: Panic attack depicted in this chapter. I marked it; it's the area in-between the asterisks. Please don't read if it'll hurt you.
> 
> \-- Thanks for the kudos! Yay! :)

At the beginning of June, Georgia called for a meeting with Jack, Tater, and Thomas, the head of PR, into her office.

“Jack, Thomas, Alexei” she greeted them. “The Aces and KPF gala is going to be in a couple of weeks, and I will be attending, as will you two – Alexei, Jack. A couple of other people in management will also be there.”

“Um, what?” said Jack, bewildered.

Both George and Thomas sighed before Thomas explained, “The Aces are hosting a gala in Las Vegas with the Kent Parson Foundation. It’s in honor of the Aces giving KPF a significantly large contribution, as well as officially kicking off a partnership between the two groups to help assist homeless teens and young adults, especially ones who are LGBT+.”

“Uh, but haven’t they been working together for the past six months or so?” Jack asked.

“Well yes,” said George, “But this party officially cements their relationship, so we need to go.”

She continued briskly, “In preparation for the Gala and future PR events, I’d like for you, Jack, to meet regularly with PR so they can help you with your image. They’ll teach you how to interview; we need you to be personable and well-liked. Thomas, you two can set up when you’ll meet. Alexei, you’re doing great; just continue to talk about how your family’s safe now, and that the Falconers have been helping them with asylum issues and adjustment to the States. PR will also help you both with a Stylist Consultant.” _Oh no. That person’ll be worse than Maman,_ Jack thought, dismayed.

She stared at both hockey players. “You two will show a unified front. I also need for both of you to let KPF and the Aces know that the Falconers support their efforts. It’d be great if we can get involved with Parson himself directly. I know that you both have a past with him, so you’ll get over that by apologizing or doing whatever you need to do.” _I’m going to see Kent again. Soon. I’m going to see him._

She stood up. “That’s all for now. You have a couple of weeks before we’ll all fly out. We’ll regroup right before the Gala to make sure everyone’s doing well.”

 

 

 

After they arranged times with Thomas for the meetings, Jack was left with Tater.

“Um, how are you doing, Tater?” he hesitantly asked. After Bittle explained why Tater had to move his family over, he talked with Mashkov and gave an awkward apology. It was accepted it just as clumsily, and they gave each other a wide berth.

“Uh, just fine, just fine, help family in New York,” answered Mashkov. “They like big city, have Russian neighborhood and food so it not as hard for them.”

“Good, good,” answered Jack. After a tense silence, Tater cleared his throat. “How your summer, Zimmboni? Eat lots of pie? Bitty is in Providence here, da?”

“Oh, no, he isn’t,” Jack startled into a reply. _That’s right, no one really knows we broke up._ “Um, he moved to New York, he got a job at the Food Network and he’s really happy there,” he continued.

“Oh! You and Little Bittle break up?” asked Tater, surprised.

“Um, yeah, he left a couple of weeks ago,” answered Jack, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Oh, sorry, sorry for that news,” said Tater, looking genuinely sad. “How you doing? Lonely? Need to be with friends?” he continued.

“Um, I’m okay, uh, we both thought it’d be better if we broke up,” Jack replied. “Uh, if you’re not busy, do you want to go out for lunch? We can talk more, uh, if you want,” he added.

Tater paused, and then stared at Jack. “Missed you, Zimmboni. Didn’t talk to team this past season. Miss my boring history friend. So yes, I want lunch with you. Sound like good idea!” he ended, with a big grin. “Go to good hamburger place. You know, one Snowy doesn’t like but they have good taters so I like them. Go now!” and he laughed, as Jack smiled as well. _Even though we may not be as close as we were before, at least we can start being friends again. I hope._

 

 

 

It was a very busy two weeks. Besides the upcoming gala, June was full of press. One rare free afternoon, Jack practiced his fake smile in front of the mirror so that it wouldn’t look so… fake. After a few attempts, he was able to ingrain in his (cheek) muscle memory an acceptable grin without looking like he was in serious pain or needed extra fiber. The subsequent photos, while still embarrassing for Jack to see, weren’t as bad as the other ones from the previous year.

He worked with Falconers’ PR department every day. He supplied them with sweet treats and coffee from a bakery near his apartment, as he had learned how the power of baked goods magically smoothed ruffled feelings and made people more willing to work with him, thanks to past lessons of Bitty’s pies. A poor intern got roped into practicing questions and scripting answers with Jack, and sometimes Tater at the same time. ( _Those are actually fun. Tater, for all his bluster of not knowing English very well, is much more articulate than I ever will be.)_ While he would never fully get rid of his robotic distance, PR turned slowly changed Jack’s answers, so he came off as more of a shy, awkward history nerd rather than a stoic, cold hockey robot. ( _I guess the public likes gawky better than robotic? Who knew?_ )

The PR stylist consultant was a nightmare. _Yes, worse than Maman._ She made him throw away his bright yellow running shoes. (“I love those sneakers. They’re my trademark,” he tried to protest. “No. They go. I don’t care.” The stylist was more inexorable than God.) She forcibly put him in tight-fitting clothes as well, getting rid of his robbing-the-7-11 outfits.  The candids of him that floated on social media became more flattering after that. Between his fake-but-acceptable grin, his dark hipster sneakers, and his form-fitting shirts and jeans, the public liked the “new” sexy-nerdy Jack. Shitty texted him, calling him “The most Canadian Sexy God of all the Canadian Sexy Gods”. ( _I think he was stoned when he texted that._ ) Tater kept laughing whenever Jack complained about missing his yellow shoes. (“Bright shoes so ugly! Stylist very right!” “But didn’t you have to get rid of your worn-out jerseys for her?” “No, I perfect Tater! Stylist say I already stylish and I not need her!” “…You’re kidding, right?” “No joke! Ha ha!”)

He gave a heart-to-heart interview with Out! Magazine right before the Gala. It was there that he publicized his break-up with Bittle, and he asked for some privacy. Of course, he knew that once the magazine was published reporters would assume that his confession was an invitation to crowd his space and invade, invade, invade. Thankfully, Bittle was already sucked into the huge, amorphous blob of New York, so he’d probably be fine; he would just have to shut off the comments of his vlog, and he’d manage the media brouhaha. Still, Jack made sure to text Bittle after he finished the interview to give him a heads-up.

When a fan sent a sparkly pink T-shirt with Gay Pride printed on it ( _Even though I’m bi, why can’t anyone get that?_ ), he wore it to the bakery the next day, getting fruit tarts for his daily PR visit. The photos from many flashing phones instantly showed up online. The Falconers retweeted one of the photos and got thousands of likes by the end of the day. Tater asked if Jack wanted matching sweatpants. Bittle texted him hearts. ( _I guess he likes the shirt?_ )

Throughout it all, Jack kept moving forward. He thought of those two dead teens whenever he would spread his PR-approved message of inclusivity after the end of every interview and sound byte. He thought of his irresponsibility as he gave the national hotline number for the KPF Teen Crisis Center in multiple commercials.

He thought, _Be Better. Be Better. Be Better._

And because he was so busy, he was too tired at night to think of the pills in his bathroom.

 

 

 

It was the Gala. Tater and Jack posed on the red carpet as they entered the building where the event was held. Jack was nervous, and he kept counting in his head, breathing in and out, in and out. Tater, sensing Jack’s discomfort, made sure to put a comforting hand on his back, and pose with Jack, resting a grounding arm around his shoulders as well. Tater also took most of the questions from the various reporters. _Thank god for Tater._ All Jack could see were flashing lights and bright, voracious grins. He didn’t remember what he was saying, but he internally thanked the PR-intern for ingraining the canned answers so much that they became automatic, like muscle memory as he donned his acceptable fake-grin.

During the ceremony, he saw Kent for the first time since that disastrous last game earlier in the year. He looked good, better than he ever had before: dressed in all black, hair long enough to tie back ( _His cowlick is gone_ ), looking a bit leaner but still in good hockey shape. His voice still sounded the same as he gave his presentation; but he came off as more poised and grounded than ever before. Kenny always knew how to keep himself together in the public eye; but now, he looked confident and charismatic, as if he had finally grown into his skin.

Jack didn’t hear the exact words. He barely noticed the other speeches. He could only see Kent.

_Kenny._ He kept thinking. His heart beat to his name. _Kenny._

 

 

 

****************************************** 

The party afterwards was crowded and stifling. Jack lost Tater shortly after they entered the room; Mashkov left to get them drinks from the bar, but that was half an hour ago. _Someone probably got him in a conversation._ In the meantime, he was accosted by some hockey members and old-money philanthropists, all trying to talk and touch and demand a cordial response back.

Jack was suffocating. The smell of excited sweat and cloying perfume, the dull roar of noise, the people people people – he needed to leave. He could feel his heart in his throat, growing larger and speeding up.

“Excuse me, need to… restroom,” he stumbled, leaving an older man in the middle of a boisterous discussion of a hockey play Bad Bob performed decades ago.   

He fled down the hallway, running past the bathrooms as he tried to find a more private area. He found an empty, smaller conference room a couple of doors down that was thankfully unlocked.

He fumbled in the room and closed the door behind him.

He fell onto the floor, trying to grab his cell phone to call Maman.

The damn phone was dead. _Shit, I forgot to recharge it. Shit._

He could feel his breaths getting shorter and shorter. _It’s getting harder to breathe. Why can’t I take deep breaths?_

He began to wheeze. _I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I can’t breathe._

As the edges of his vision grew dark, he felt someone grab his hand and put it to their chest.

He heard, “Feel my heartbeat. Feel my breathing.”

His hand felt the steady rhythm of a strong heart.

He felt a chest moving out.

Chest moving in.

Chest moving out.

Chest moving in.

“Okay Jack. Okay, breathe with me. Feel my lungs expand. Try that.” He felt someone’s hand on his own heart, on his own chest.

*****************************************************

After a million years, his heart and his lungs eventually, gradually moved in sync with the other person’s chest. Jack, who realized he was lying down on the ground, opened his eyes, blearily looked around and saw Kent, sitting right next to him, patiently keeping Jack’s hand on his chest.

_Kenny?_

“You okay now, Jack?” asked Kent, looking at him steadily.

_Kenny?_

_What is he doing here?_

“Oui, oui,” he answered, bewildered.

“Are you really here?” he wondered, awed, moving his hand to cup Kenny’s face.

_I need to feel if he’s real._

The relaxed, calm atmosphere between them turned awkward and clumsy.

Something changed in Kent’s expression and he jerked his head back before Jack could touch him.

“Yeah, it’s me in the flesh,” he smirked a little, his face smoothly turning into a mask. He continued, “Do you still get a lot of panic attacks? You should see a therapist to help you with better coping skills.”

Jack cringed as he looked away. “Uh, yeah. Sorry. Maman usually helps me with them, but my phone’s dead right now.” _Because I’m a fucking idiot and can’t do simple things like charge my phone._

Kent heaved a sigh. “Jack, it’s not a problem. I’m suggesting it because a good therapist can help you with your triggers so the attacks won’t escalate. If they do, you’ll have better coping skills to manage them. I didn’t mean it as criticism.” He laughed. “Hell, I love my therapist and I think everyone should have one. Seriously.”

“Uh, I don’t see one anymore; I’ve been fine, so I don’t need one,” Jack replied, quietly, as he looked at a spot right below Kent’s eye. _He has more freckles now._

Kent snorted. “Jack, with the shit you’ve dealt with this past year, I’d say you need one. Anyway, it’s your choice but I’d suggest you see one just based on your anxiety disorder, at least, to help you with your life.”

As Jack sat up and pressed his hands flat against firm linoleum floor, feeling the coolness underneath his fingers, Kent stood up, stretching his arms and shoulders with a discernable crack from popping joints.

A thought occurred to Jack as his head started to clear from its fog. “Not that I don’t appreciate you helping me, but why _are_ you here? I thought I was discrete when I left the ballroom,” he said. _George will kill me if I wasn’t._

Kent chuckled a little. “Actually, I saw you run by me as I left the restroom. Guess you didn’t notice me standing there.” He added sheepishly, “Uh, you didn’t look too good, so I followed you here.”

“Um, thanks,” murmured Jack, looking back at his hands. “You really helped.”

“So, yeah,” Kent awkwardly swung his arms. He started pacing in the room before he added, “Uh, while we’re talking, I should probably apologize.”

“What? Why?” Jack incredulously asked, his head moving up. _Apologize? But he said all his apologies in his letter._

“Um, well, remember that letter I sent you?” Kent rushed the words out, looking at a spot above Jack’s head as he stopped moving. “Uh, my therapist said that I wasn’t supposed to _actually_ send it to you. It was more of a -- how did she put it -- ‘a symbolic gesture to let go and move forward when I didn’t have the opportunity to say goodbye in person’. Or something like that. Uh, so I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have sent it, it was the past and no need to dredge all that up again, right?” Kent weakly grimaced.

What? No! No, I’m glad you sent it!” Jack forcefully exclaimed. He added in a softer voice, “No, there’s no need to apologize. I’m glad, very glad you sent it to me.” _You needed to say those things to me. You deserve that, Kenny._

“Oh! Um, that’s great, then! So it all worked out, yeah?” Kent said nervously. Jack tried to smile back, but he felt weariness hitting him like a freight train.

As the stillness grew, Kent moved again, towards the door when Jack finally said, “Kent. I can’t talk much right now, but can I call you later? I need to say things to you, too.” _I need to apologize, too. I need to tell you how much I regret treating you so badly. I have so many things I need to say to you._

Kent looked away, face hidden in the shadows as the silence ticked. Finally, his shoulders drooped, and he sounded as fatigued as Jack felt when he spoke. “Jack. I’ve finally moved on with my life without you. I don’t need you to jerk me around again.”

He breathed out. “But… all right. If you have to talk to me to heal or some shit like that, okay. That’s fine. Just. Just – please. Please don’t fuck with me again, all right?” he begged.

Jack looked at him and whispered, “No. I won’t. I promise.” _I will never do that to you anymore._

Again, silence took over the conversation. Kent broke it this time with, “Well, I don’t have your number, so you’ll have to call. When you’re ready, feel free to contact me.”

He left the room, not looking back, leaving Jack sitting forlornly on the floor.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack starts to work on being better for the Falconers. Marty helps.

It was after the Gala. George declared Jack’s and Tater’s performance a success; somehow, George scored some sort of collaboration with KPF that night. It was on that high note that Jack somehow forced a reluctant invitation to Marty and Gabby’s house. He knew he had to apologize to his team, especially Marty and Thirdy, since they bore the brunt of his own inadequacies the past year.

Jack was oblivious, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew that for the most part, his team was not homophobic. Instead, they resented the attention that Jack got from coming out in such an unscripted and overdramatic fashion, usurping their incredibly hard work leading to a win of the coveted Stanley Cup. He pissed off more people when he had that unofficial party at his apartment. _I thought I invited everyone, but I guess I didn’t? So many things happened that night, so I could have forgotten to have told them that._ And the few players who didn’t resent him hated the leering reporters and their intrusive questions placed on themselves, the speculations of “Do you feel comfortable in the locker room with a gay man? Who else can be gay on the team? Are you?”

And the over-the-top viciousness in the game. Hockey is, by its very nature, violent. However, this past season went beyond the pale. While Jack bore the brunt of the extra checks and punches and hits that cropped up from some of the more closed-minded players, the other Falconers were targets as well. Anyone that was related to Jack in any sort of way was considered fair game on the ice.

Jack internally groaned. _I have a lot to do to make up for this past shitty season. I hope Marty will accept my apologies._

During dinner, Marty warmed up with the help of Gabby and the kids. _Congenial small talk and silly childrens’ questions can relax anyone, I guess._ Finally, Jack settled down with Marty in his living room while Gabby put the kids down to sleep.

“Um, Marty, I wanted to apologize for everything this past year,” he started.

Marty stared at him. Then he sighed. “Jack, I don’t know what to say. I don’t mind that you came out. I don’t even care about the presser after the Cup win. I know that being the league’s first out player has a lot of challenges, and it’s been hard for you.”

“Okay,” Jack replied, nodding. “But?”

“But what I do care about, is that you weren’t there for the team. You weren’t communicating with anyone. Hell, once I tried to talk to you after a game, but when I looked in your direction, you were gone, and I realized you didn’t even know I was speaking.”

Marty looked straight in Jack’s eyes. “Jack, you did that a lot, not just with me but also with the rookies and the other players, ignoring everyone and being in your own head. And you blame yourself for the losses, when it’s a team sport and it was everyone’s damn fault. Hell, you’re still blaming yourself for this craptastic season. The truth is that I needed a team player, and you weren’t being one. I also needed an A, someone who could lead and help the other players adjust, especially with the major changes in the roster, and you were off in your own head. You blew it. That’s what I’m pissed about.”

Jack closed his eyes. Breathed. _Be Better. Be Better,_ he thought.

He opened them and cautiously began his reply. “You’re right, Marty. I agree. I did blow it. You’re right; I didn’t think of us as a team, and instead thought of us as ‘the team and I’. I also know I should have led the rookies, but I didn’t. I should have leaned on you and Thirdy and told you what was going on.”

He inhaled. Continued. “I fucked up. I didn’t take responsibility of my actions. I need to change that though, I need to man up and be better than this past year. I owe you, I owe the Falconers an apology. But I know that talk is just talk, and I need to make it up with actions now.”

Jack closed his eyes again. Breathed. Waited for Marty to respond. When he did, he asked, “Jack, what happened? Something happened to spur this all on. What is it?”

He exhaled. “Are you sure you want to hear this? It’s pretty long,” Jack tried to joke. Marty smiled a little and nodded.

Jack sighed, and told stiltedly, at first, of how coming out ruined his relationship with Bittle and that they broke up. He told Marty about the two teens that died, and the way Bob and Alicia tried to cover their deaths up. He told of how he never had to be responsible for his actions before, and that he was lucky in that he was surrounded by people who took up his burdens or let him go without dealing with the consequences.

Jack talked, and talked, and talked, quietly, hesitantly, brokenly. Marty quietly listened hard throughout his confessional, not interrupting. Finally, Jack asked Marty, “What can I do to make this right? What should I do for the team?”

Marty again smiled a little as he replied, “What you’re doing now, Jack. Listen to and lean on your teammates. Talk to them, and in turn, be there for them. Trust them. I’ll help, as will Thirdy, and you’ll be fine. We’ll make this season better, Jack. I promise.”

He continued, softly, “And Jack, I really think you should see a therapist if you’re not already. That’s a helluva lot of crap you dealt with this past year, and I think it’ll help you a lot. If you need recommendations, the Falconers can give you some suggestions.”

He hesitated, and added, “Um, I can also give you the name of one that I saw. Shana helped me out when I first joined the Falconers. Gabby and I had a lot of problems, and neither of us were adjusting well when I got pulled from the AHL to the Falconers. She’s really good if you’re interested.”

Jack thought, eyes closed. _If both Kent and Marty think I need therapy, I should probably start up again._ Opening his eyes, he asked, “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be a good idea. Will you give me her number?”

Marty grinned widely. “Yeah, let me grab my phone and text it to you.” He added, “I’m glad you’re going to see her. She’ll help you manage everything, Jack.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack gets a great therapist. With her help, he figures out what to say to Kent when he texts him.

Jack started therapy with Shana shortly after he got her number. They agreed to meeting twice a week, adding or lessening the sessions as time would go by. The first thing he addressed was his urge to abuse his meds again. They established a plan immediately.  

Jack gave Marty his pills, who would give only Jack’s daily dose and no more. Because he had to see Marty every day, they ended up doing their morning run together a lot. That helped heal the rift Jack had with him, as they ended up chatting, not only about the Falconers, but also about their daily lives and everyday things. Marty was amenable with his involvement, and in fact, said to Jack after he agreed to the plan, “Thank you, Jack. Thanks for trusting me with this. I’m really proud that you’re getting yourself the help you need.” _He’s sincere, so why do I feel like crying because he said that?_

In the meantime, Shana wanted him to document everything to find unknown triggers and patterns. He was to write down the circumstances every time he had the urge to abuse his meds or when he could feel an anxiety attack come on. They would go over what he wrote in the sessions, so he could eventually pinpoint what brought the urges and attacks so that they could manage them in a more productive way.  

She showed him some Cognitive Behavior Therapy (CBT) tricks as they continued their sessions. Jack ended up buying and wearing a necklace of a large green-grey stone ( _It reminds me of Kent’s eyes_ , his traitorous thoughts whispered before he shut them up); stroking the smoothness of the rock with his thumb helped center his mind when he could feel his heart start to pound, or when the urge to take too much of his meds started.

He always carried a fidget toy now, playing with it, hidden in his pockets, keeping him in his body, when the flash of the cameras would become too much, helping him to breathe and be. _They keep being washed with the laundry though, I need to check my pockets before I throw my pants in the washer._

Shannon helped him with visualization. _I’m on the ice, alone and quiet. I feel myself smoothly skating. The cold wind numbs my cheeks and chaps my lips. I’m peaceful._

She helped with relaxation. _Wow, lots of relaxation apps. I wonder if they all went to some special relaxation voice actress training school; they all sound so similar._

She helped him with other techniques to ground himself. _Clench my hands. Relax them. Clench them again. If that doesn’t work, pet my necklace or play with my fidget toy or put my hand over my heart, feeling the hard work of my heart, doing the incessant job of keeping me alive._

Shannon helped him with using distraction. _Focus on finding something to eat if I can. Feel the food in my mouth. Take a sip of my drink and take note of how hot or cold it is._

They tried aromatherapy once, which only gave him a headache. _The smell of lemongrass is… ugh. And citrus and mint and vanilla remind me of Bittle._ Biofeedback also hit his bullshit meter too much for him to be able to take it seriously.

After a particularly intense CBT session with Shana, he wondered why he didn’t learn these techniques with his previous therapists. _Well, I was only nineteen. It was rehab, so circumstances were different._ And as time marched forward, he realized that using a combination of his newly-learned coping techniques, as opposed to just one skill, helped him most as he slowly, awkwardly learned how to manage his fucked-up brain better than he ever had before.

As they went through the different coping techniques, he felt hope.

_Be Better._

 

 

 

While seeing Shana on a frequent basis, July had an even greater increase in publicity. _I didn’t know that was possible._ With the – forceful -- prompting of PR, he did weekly Falconers videos, and they were a big success. PR decided, after seeing how much of a hit Parson’s videos were of the Aces and him doing random things, that they needed to one-up the Las Vegas franchise. That was how Jack was stuck posting videos of himself doing or learning some ( _stupid_ ) activity. They nixed his suggestion of commenting on History documentaries or even Ancient Aliens, stating that would be too dull ( _I disagree;_ _It’d be Mystery Science Theater 2000, except with history and Shitty always liked my comments)_. Instead, he was taped attempting to roller blade for the first ( _and last_ ) time. Another was of him trying to do a figure-skating spin thing (Bittle enjoyed that video, sending many, many LOLs). _I hate ice skates. What the hell is the deal with that damn toe pick thing?_ After Jack threatened to cut off their supply of good coffee and fried pastries, they promised that they would only make him do activities that weren’t so ( _humiliatingly and painfully_ ) difficult.

After every video, he gave his inclusion speech and the hotline number.

Ticket sales rose. Merch started increasing sales as he slowly got back in the limelight. Different sponsors were recently added. ( _Subaru and Target, of course._ ) Jack got the Falcs to sell sparkly pink jerseys with his name and hockey number, as well as the rainbow flag on the sleeve ( _Should be the bi colors, but it seems people still keep calling me gay instead_ ); those sold out a couple of days after they were posted, and the franchise, in addition to a reorder of the jersey, also decided to make action figure dolls of him in the same sparkly pink shirt. ( _Crisse, I’ve become a Ken doll._ )

An increase of Tumblr photos of people posing with the Zimmermann pink jersey and the Parson snapback supposedly spurred a mass influx of fanfiction of the two, he was informed gleefully by the very same PR intern who helped his interviewing skills. _Fanfiction? Pimms? Isn’t that a British cookie? What is she talking about? I’ll need to ask Tater, he knows the internet more than I do._

(He asked Tater. Tater laughed until he cried and wouldn’t tell him a damn thing.)

 

 

 

One day, after he spent some time with that intern, who helped him with more media training, Georgia called him to her office.

“Hi, George, how are you?” he asked as he sat.

George smiled at him, looking less stressed than she had a month ago. “Much better. You’re doing great, Jack. The publicity you’ve been doing over the summer is bearing fruit for the franchise, and upper management is starting to be happy with you. If you continue with your trajectory, things will get better for you and your career.”

“Thanks, George, I’m glad to help,” he responded happily.

“Jack, you did fantastic at the Gala. Fantastic. Response to the couple of photos of both you and Parson together was the most positive with the public.” _We took photos together? I must’ve been really discombobulated that night. I don’t remember posing with Kent. Only with Tater. Huh._

George continued, with a glint in her eye that Jack didn’t like, “With that in mind -- do you remember when I said there was a fun hockey match to be had this summer? Well, PR and I thought it’d make a great publicity stunt and support gay rights as well. KPF is involved, and I believe Kent Parson himself will also be a part of it.”

“Wait, what?” sputtered Jack. _I haven’t seen Kent in almost two years before the Gala; and now I’ll see him again in a month or so? And hockey match? Huh?_

“KPF is expanding a current youth homeless shelter in Boston by creating an LGBT+ teen crisis center branch within the organization. The official opening is at the end of August, and we thought that some of the Bruins and Falconers still in town can play with the Boston gay hockey team there. Parson is apparently involved with the San Francisco team, and he also wants publicity shed on the queer teams across the country.”

As she lowered her voice, she added, “Between you and me, I think Parson wants to create an official gay hockey league in the US. He’s started to lay the groundwork for one, quietly, and he’s been organizing the west coast teams to be able to play against each other.”

“Anyway,” she said in a louder voice, “I want you to play with Parson on his team. It appears that the public still wants the two of you to play on the same line. That in itself will generate a lot of positive publicity.”

“Uh, um, okay? Any other big events for this summer?” stuttered Jack. _Will I have yet another major event with Kent? At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if there are._

George looked at her opened laptop. “Um, no, not anything big. You’re booked, however, for lots of little events – showing up at hospitals, volunteering at the local homeless shelters, more commercials and interviews, that sort of thing. You’ll be plenty busy, but this Parson opening and game should be the biggest event for you for the next couple months. When your season starts, you won’t have as much time for PR but we still expect you to attend some events. But we’ll talk about that when we’re in September.”

_I need to talk to Kent before that game. I need to talk to Shana about him and figure out what I need to say. Huh. I need to increase our sessions._

 

 

 

It was the beginning of August when Jack finally contacted Kent. Sessions with Shana increased to three times a week. Before the increase, she had been focusing, primarily, on managing his anxiety as well as his addiction. ( _I’m an addict. I will always be an addict. The words sound terrible, but I’m relieved that I can finally say them._ ) However, after his meeting with George, he wanted to deal with Kenny and their history. _I owe him the same thoughtfulness and care he gave me. It’s important that he gets that from me._

He texted Kent.

_It’s Jack. Are you free for a phone call right now?_

While waiting for an answer, he decided to sit on his mostly-empty couch ( _I really need to get some throw pillows_ ) with a glass of water and his phone on the coffee table. There was also a list of Shana-approved topics he wanted to address with Kent he read over again, while he waited for Kent’s response. Finally, his phone dinged after about half an hour.

_Yeah, I have a couple of hours free. Let’s Skype._

Jack got up to grab his laptop from his bedroom. He plopped back on the sofa and opened Skype, connecting his call to Kent.

“Uh, hi, Kent. It’s me, Jack,” he stumbled, waving his hand awkwardly.

“Um hey, yeah, I can see it’s you,” Kent responded, smiling a little. His hair looked wet as he leaned back on a headboard. _He must’ve just taken a shower and is sitting on his bed._

Again, there was silence before Jack broke it with, “So, um, what’s up?”

Kent laughed. “Well, I doubt you’re calling to ask that. But, um, I’m fine. Things are going well. Busy, super busy, but good. Uh, how about you?”

“I’m sorry,” Jack blurted out, off the script he wrote for himself. He gave himself a mental face-palm. _Way to go, Jack. Sometimes I shouldn’t be allowed to speak. Crisse._ “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

“Um, what?” Kent looked perplexed at the non-sequitur.

“I need to say this to you. You deserve to hear this. I’m sorry. I fucked up. I fucked up when we were kids; and I fucked up this past year. I fucked things up so badly with you, and you still helped me. You’re still helping me with my mistakes. I couldn’t help those kids that I fucked up, that I fucking killed, but you are even though I’m the one that fucked them up. Damnit, Kenny – I’m sorry, so sorry to you. I messed things up the most with you. It doesn’t matter how many times I apologize, it still won’t be enough. But I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” _Shit, stop with the word vomit. Fuck._

Kent’s eyes had grown wider and wider as Jack spewed his words, but when they stopped, he closed his eyes. Kent was silent, breathing through his nose, slowly, purposefully.

Finally, he opened his eyes and looked straight at Jack. “Okay. Um, I’ll admit, you surprised me when, while we were at the Gala, that you asked to call me. You had been the one ghosting me or demanding that I leave you alone for the past eight years. Now that I’ve stopped contact with you, you want to talk to me. Is it because of my letter? What gives?”

Jack looked down at his hands. “That’s a fair question. After I read your letter, I began to think of our history. I sat down and really thought of all the things we did to each other. After that, I realized that I owe you a lot of apologies. A lot. And, uh, I’m learning that I need to take responsibility for my actions. In the past, when I didn’t, you were the one that ended up taking up the slack. I never appreciated that and took it for granted. That wasn’t right. So let me say these things, Kenny. Please.”

At Kent’s slight nod, he continued. “First, I need to apologize for the Q. I know now that I’m an addict with an anxiety disorder, and instead of doing anything about those issues at the time, I placed my well-being on your shoulders. That wasn’t fair for you. That was wrong of me to do. I took advantage of how much you cared about me by making you responsible for my health and my actions. That was fucked up of me to do to you. I shouldn’t have done that.”

He paused. Closing his eyes, he grabbed his stone necklace, feeling the smoothness of the rock, grounding him in his body. When he felt his heart slow a little, he continued. “The promise that you would always be there for me -- Kenny, you’re right, I don’t remember it. I was so high on my meds and alcohol that I don’t remember a lot of the Q, so I don’t remember you promising that. If I had, then things would have been so much easier for you and I could have told you much, much sooner that you should let that go. God, Kenny, the whole situation was wrong, I was wrong, and while I know I was just a kid, so were you. So were you, but you had the burden of something that even adults shouldn’t have.”

There was silence as Jack felt his hand stroke his rock pendant. _Feel how smooth it is. It’s unchanging. Feel how my thumb touches it._ Getting back in his body, he continued, “I knew you loved me back then; and I did love you, as much as could, even though I was so messed up. I still think of the thirty-four days right before the Draft as the best time of my life, and I know it was because I was with you.” Jack opened his eyes. He realized that Kenny’s eyes were blown wide open.

Jack added, “I was wrong to avoid you right after my OD. Part of that was because my parents kept you away, since they wrongly blamed you for the meds and the hospitalization. But also, I was afraid that if I saw you again, talked to you again, I’d relapse. Also, I was jealous, so stupidly jealous that you were first in the Draft. But I was even more resentful that it seemed you were able to move on, be the hockey player that I was supposed to be, while I was left behind in a rehab center.”

Taking a deep breath, he said, “I know I’m wrong, now. I was such a stupid, stupid kid and I needed to blame you for my addiction, my anxiety, my parents, the pressures placed on me; but the truth is that it was terribly, terribly unfair to have done that to you and that I am the only one responsible for my actions and myself. I’m so, so sorry for that.”

After Kenny’s small affirmation, Jack added on, “Um, when everything happened last year, I didn’t think of the consequences of that kiss. I honestly believed that I would just be able to hold Bittle’s hand in public while being able to play hockey. And it made him happy, since he really wanted to be out.”

He continued. “I didn’t realize -- uh, rather, I didn’t want to face the truth that regardless of what I wanted, I am the first publicly bi (although everyone calls me gay) NHL player; and with that comes that that fucked-up obligation to do the song-and-dance message of the league inclusivity that we both know doesn’t do shit to address the deep homophobia in pro hockey. I didn’t play their game at first; and you were one of the first casualties. I didn’t even warn you, fuck, and that was wrong of me. Because of me, you lost your career after I forcibly outed you. I’m sorry for that. You didn’t deserve that, you don’t deserve that, and I fucked it all up.”

After another slight nod from Kenny, Jack spoke. “And then the kids… Shit, the kids.” He paused, taking a sip of water on the table. “I didn’t know about the kids. I didn’t know that my fucked-up comment from the Cup presser was taken seriously by some of the teens. I didn’t know that kids had to run away from unsafe homes, or were beaten up, or tried to kill themselves, or… or succeeded in committing suicide or were beaten until they died,” Jack whispered the last part. “I fucking ran away to France, because I couldn’t deal with a camera or a microphone in my face, while kids were trying to off themselves or getting hurt because I was too arrogant to state a more tactful, safer PR statement of inclusivity and safety. I never even thought of how most people get beaten up for being bi or gay. I’m such a fucking privileged bastard,” he muttered, looking down, ashamed of looking at Kenny. _Fuck, I’m so ashamed of myself_.

“I didn’t know about the kids who died, nor about my dad buying out their silence, nor about the increase in runaways and violence until last May. I know that ignorance isn’t not a good excuse; I should have been there for the kids to begin with, so they could have been maybe safer; and I know how to google, so saying I didn’t know is just a cop-out.”

As he held tight onto his necklace, he continued to murmur, “But when I found out what Papa did, I realized that he always took care of my fuck-ups. I always had friends and my parents to excuse my fucked-up behavior, and not call me on it. I never really had to take care of the consequences of my actions. And because I didn’t, again, when I came out, two kids died. Two children died. And they wouldn’t have, if I had acted like an adult and taken on the responsibility of the consequences of that fucking kiss.” Jack could feel the tears in his eyes. _Fuck. Stop it. I don’t deserve to cry. I fucked up, and I don’t deserve these tears._

“And fuck, Kenny, you – you again, you’re taking what should have been my burden. You’re saving the kids with your foundation. You’re taking care of them. You’re making them safe. You’re even working with the Aces to help the kids, even though they kicked you out. You’re again dealing with the consequences of my fucked-up actions. It’s not fair to you, Kenny. I keep doing this to you, and I am sorry, deeply sorry, for all the fucked-up shit I keep doing to you. Instead of me dealing with the consequences of whatever fucked-up shit I do, you always end up having to face them instead. Kenny. Kent. What can I do for you?” Jack finally lifted his head to face him as he added, “Tell me what I can do so you don’t have to deal with my fucked-up actions anymore.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent responds to Jack.

As Jack finally got his tears under control, he glanced blearily at Kenny, who seemed thoughtful and contemplative. “Jack,” as Kent started, “I appreciate the apologies. I really do. But one thing you need to understand is this: I’ve started KPF and I’m doing this publicity crap because I want to help the kids. I’m not doing this to relieve you of any burdens. I’m doing this shit for _them,_ not you.”

He continued. “When I heard about these runaways, and when I realized that no one, including you, was doing shit for them, I volunteered myself. I couldn’t ignore them. That wouldn’t be right. So I created KPF and sold myself again to the fucking league, for the donations and the publicity,” he ended cynically.

“But I did not, definitely did not decide to do this for you. Hell, Jack – I was pissed off at you when KPF started. I’m still ticked with the fact that it took you so damn long to do something for these kids.”

Kent shrugged, “At least you’re doing something now. And I’m glad for that, because I know there’re kids out there who will listen to you _more_ than KPF and me. No matter what I do, _you_ will always be the first one who came out in the NHL. And yeah, I’ve noticed your commercials and shit. So thanks, Jack, for your efforts. I hope you continue, because the queer teens sure as shit need you desperately.”

“Yes, yes, of course”, murmured Jack. “I’m going to continue. I need to be better for them. I can’t ignore my role anymore.”

“Good,” answered Kent. He sighed gustily before he plowed through. “As for the Q and all that…”

He softened a little. “Jack, thank you. Thank you for letting me know that you loved me back then, or as much as you could during those thirty-four days.” Kent smiled. “I was so much in love with you. The memories of that time carried me through a lot of shit afterwards. It’s nice to know that the feelings were mutual, and that it really was wonderful and not something I hyped up in my mind.”

Kent looked at Jack in the eyes as his mouth moved to a determined line. “As for that goddamned promise I made to you – you’re right, had you remembered and given me permission to let you go, my life would’ve been a helluva lot easier. But, to be fair, anyone would have figured out that you didn’t want me anymore, based on your actions after the Draft. I was a dumbass. Plus, you had no responsibility for that promise. As I recall, I’m the one who made it. You never told me to do it. And I did let you go, fucking finally, although it took me long enough. It all worked out, eventually.”

“Okay, thanks,” whispered Jack, his chest aching from Kent’s words. _I’m the idiot. Why does the thought of Kenny letting me go hurt so much? After all, that’s what I wanted from him for a long time._

Kent continued, giving him a steely glare, “As for your ghosting – yeah, Jack, that was fucked up.” He breathed out, briefly looking down. “But I understand why, especially with my therapist helping me.”

He turned introspective. “I know, now, that I was an enabler for your addiction, back in the Q. Fuck, I wasn’t good for you. I should have told Bad Bob and Alicia about the pills and the booze and the increased anxiety attacks. Hell, I gave you more alcohol, not less, and I encouraged you to take more meds when your anxiety grew out of control.”

He inhaled before continuing. “’I know, with the help of Aparna, that you cut me out of your life so that I wouldn’t trigger you to relapse. I also know that I was too fucking young to understand what to do to help you back then. Hell, we were both just kids, really dumb shits back then. We didn’t have the maturity to be able to handle all the pressure and stress and crap, on top of an addiction and a bona fide anxiety disorder, and we didn’t have parents who were around enough to see what was going on. So yeah, it was shitty of you to ghost me, but I also understand why, now.”

He added shortly, “But I’m not excusing you completely, either. You could have written a text or an email or even a goddamn letter after you felt more stable. Hell, you could’ve contacted me even when you were in college, but…”

He shrugged. “Can’t go back to the past, right? Anyway, I don’t think about it anymore. And after that second visit to Samwell, a part of me realized, that as great as we were together, we were also incredibly destructive. It’s just as well for your healing that you ignored me. Anyway, I accepted that we weren’t the Zimms and Kenny duo after that night. So it’s all cool,” as Kenny smirked.

His smirk faded as he added, “When you outed me and I was forced into retirement, I was fucking pissed off at you. Yes, Jack, I agree that I’m owed an apology for giving me no warnings when you came out. It _was_ totally fucked up that you left me high-and-dry and you didn’t bother to call me afterwards, especially because you knew people would figure out we were involved during the Q.”

He firmly continued, “I miss playing professional hockey desperately, and there are nights when I dream I’m playing a game with the Aces; and I wake up sad as shit when I realize it isn’t real.”

“But…” as Kent continued, looking gentler, “I’m happier, now, in other ways. When I was still with my ex, we were able to hold hands and make out in public and dance in clubs and I didn’t have to worry about cameras and gossip and shit. It was amazingly freeing. While I was fine being in the closet during my professional hockey career, another part of me is overjoyed that I don’t have to hide that aspect of myself now.”

He smiled again. “And my job – it means something _real_ to the world. I’m doing something that’s making a difference in peoples’ lives. Sure, a lot of it’s tedious, and sometimes I’m so, so tired of having to be so, well, _public_ , but it’s worth it for making even one person’s life easier when they’re out of the closet.”

He waved his hand. “Yeah, I loved being a hockey player and I’ll always miss it; but my current life is satisfying in other ways. It’s all turned out, Jack. I know how lucky I am with the way my life has turned out.”

As Kent grinned harder, he added, “While I don’t really follow the league anymore, I have heard and seen random snippets about you. I have to say, I laughed so hard when I saw you try to figure skate that I almost pissed my pants,” Kent chuckled.

“Gee, thanks,” Jack responded sourly, internally glad to turn the subject onto something more light-hearted.

“Seriously though,” as Kent’s grin faded. “It looks like you’re playing the NHL gay-token-boy game now. What changed?”

Jack thought a little bit before he said, “Last year, when I didn’t act that role, a lot of other people that I cared about were left with the consequences. The Falconers management team were always good to me, even during the past year when I fucked up the franchise.”

He drank more of his water before continuing. “My team suffered, mostly because I used to think of them as ‘the Falconers and I’, not ‘us’. When I kissed my ex, I wasn’t thinking of the team and of how we all won together; I was thinking that since I made the winning shot, I deserved to be able to kiss someone I loved because I was the one that got them the Cup. _Now_ I know that’s wrong and fucked up. We all know that hockey’s a team sport. But since I thought I was so special, since I thought I was better than everyone else, I came out without caring about how it’d impact the rest of my team. Afterwards, I ignored the shit they had to deal with because of my actions or inactions.”

Jack thought a bit more and then added, “So I owe it to my team. I owe it to the Falconers. Don’t get me wrong, I know they’d trade me in a second if we continue to lose money this upcoming season. But, despite it all, they stuck with me, and will at least for this next season. I owe it to them to try.”

Kent looked pensive. “Okay, Jack, I can buy that. But what do you want to do, in dealing with the consequences of coming out? Do you want to help the teens? Do you want to show everyone that you can be LGBT+ and play good hockey, and that the NHL should include more gays and bisexuals? Do you want to show everyone that the league can be inclusive and that everything’s cool? What do you specifically want to achieve?”

Jack shrugged. “Honestly, I haven’t really thought of that much. I do want to keep playing professional hockey and I want to give more to my team. I owe George, my assistant GM, and so I’ll continue doing the stupid song-and-dance the Falconers are making me do. But I want to do more. I’m not good at public speaking, although I’m practicing and getting better. But one thing’s for sure: I need to do more for the teens, for other kids that may not be safe. I just don’t know how exactly to help them yet.”

Kent laughed. “If you’re serious about wanting to help them, ask KPF. We have plenty of opportunities for you. Hell, you could do commercials directly for the organization, or do sound bytes publicizing the hotline, or show up at a KPF fundraiser, or donate personal shit for charity auctions, or volunteer at the shelters themselves, or… god, there’s so much if you want to help. Shit, if you can just ‘like’ a KPF tweet, that’ll help boost publicity a lot more. Honestly, there’s so much shit that you can do if you’re actually serious about it.”

Jack looked at him again, focusing on Kenny’s eyes. “Yes, Kenny, I do. Tell me what to do, what you need for me to do most, and I’ll do it. I may need to spin it to George and PR that it’s to boost the Falconers reputation and profits, but if it helps the queer teen population, I’ll do it.”

Kenny startled, and murmured, “You’re really serious about wanting to help, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” Firm and sure.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Kent have their say in their conversation before they hang up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-- Kudo thanks!!!! Yay!!!!  
> \-- Going through some illness right now. The editing really, really sucks; I don't have a beta, and I haven't been able to really look over this (and the past couple of chapters). I apologize for the typos and editing mistakes. (I know some content could be cut out, but right now, I don't have the energy to go through it.)

After bandying about suggestions, Kenny concluded that he, with KPF management, would figure out how to maximize Jack’s help. After their impromptu brainstorming session, a lull in their conversation grew.

His face unreadable, Kent finally asked, “So, have you said your piece? Is there anything else you need to hash out?”

“Um, yeah, uh, let me look at the list my therapist and I created,” as Jack floundered over the things on his coffee table.

Kent grinned. “I’m flattered you wrote something up. And that you went over it with your therapist.” His smile faded. “I’m glad you got one, by the way. A therapist, I mean. I hope the person’s helping you with your anxiety attacks, at least.”

“Yeah, yeah, Shana’s great,” Jack answered absentmindedly. As he stared at his paper, he started to panic. _This can’t be it with Kent. Is it?_ He pinched the edges of paper in his hands, the tips of his fingers turning white from the pressure. He breathed out, “Uh, can we be friends again?”

When he looked up, he caught Kent’s look of surprise as he stammered, “Uh, shit, Jack – Um, fuck. Fuck – fuck, I don’t know.”

Kent ran his hand through his hair as he sighed. “You have to understand: I was devoted to you for a long time.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jack, I finally let go of us. I let go of what I thought we were going to be, and the potential that we would one day be together. I don’t -- I really can’t go back to that.”

He flailed his hands wildly. “Honestly, it looks like you just want me to continue being there for you without you having to do any work in having any sort of a relationship with me. And when you realized that I’ve finally said goodbye to Zimms, you just want me back to give you that love and adoration you took for granted and had as some sort of a safety net. But Jack -- I finally have my life together. I’m still learning to put up boundaries with some people as well as taking risks with others, but I’m getting better. I’m _happy._ I’m not going to risk that.”

Jack blurted, “What if I prove that I want to put work in our relationship? I will, Kent. I’ll fuck up, but I’ll work at it. You deserve that.” _You deserve everything, Kenny._

Kent silently looked at Jack. He asked softly, “Why is this so important for us to become friends again? We’ve both changed a lot since the Q, so we’re strangers now. We only have our past to connect us; and even those memories are tainted with the shit that happened afterwards. So why?”

Jack breathed, clinging onto his necklace and closing his eyes. He pictured Kent, back in the Q. He could see his Kenny in those perfect thirty-four days before the Draft, fuzzy as those memories were. _I remember how happy I was. I remember how much in love I was with Kenny. I remember feeling safe with him, safer than anyone else ever made me feel before and after the OD._

“Kenny,” he began. “You were my first best friend. The time in the Q was hard for the both of us, incredibly difficult and it was fucked up that we teens were expected to handle all the goddamn pressure. But you kept me alive, figuratively and literally. You helped me manage, even though I’m an addict with an anxiety disorder.”

He stumbled, quieter, “I just – I realized I can’t just let you go. You’re right. I _did_ take you for granted for a long time. I even believed I didn’t want you in my life, until you sent me that package. But – until you sent my things to me, I ignored all the good things about us. I forgot about those dumb pieces of paper I wrote for you. I hadn’t heard that Fleetwood Mac album in a long time, and when I listened to it again, I remembered all those times you had that damn “Landslide” song on repeat over and over and over. And… and I remembered. I remembered us. I remembered that, despite the shit we experienced back then, you were the main reason for all of the good times, too.”

He whispered, “And… those good times were some of the happiest moments of my life.”

Jack cleared his throat as he spoke louder. “I know we’re different now, and I want to know Kent Parson. I want to know how Kenny grew up to be the Kent of today. Crisse – I know it’d be better for you if I left you alone, so I know I’m being selfish. But Kent – I want to know you, and I want you to know me, too.”

He laughed at himself. “I just want to be friends. I never knew how to be friends with anyone, even with my college buddies, so I’m learning how right now, with Shana helping me. I know I’ll screw up, but I want to learn how to be as good a friend as you were. You deserve it.”

He stared at his paper in the ensuing silence, letting go of it, finger by finger and letting it drop on his lap. As he slowly looked at his screen, he could see Kent looking down, a frown between his eyebrows. _Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. I need to respect his boundaries._

Kent finally looked up, squaring his shoulders. “Jack, Jack…” he started. “I don’t know if I can trust you. Christ – what if, after I let you in and consider you a friend, you decide to ghost me again?”

He looked unbearably sad. “I know, logically, why you did the things you did. I understand and respect why you chose to leave me out of your life. I really do. But it hurt like hell when it happened.”

“Zimms,” Kent’s eyes showing anguish, “I needed you. I needed you so goddamned much. I was so fucking terrified when you OD’ed. I was stuck in Las Vegas, alone, and I didn’t know if you were dead. But you didn’t even let me know that you were alive. Zimms…” he stopped his diatribe and breathed in, closing his eyes.

As he opened them, he looked at Jack stoically. “I know I’m not easy to be friends with because I _am_ confrontational, and adding our crazy past means a friendship between us wouldn’t be easy. And we know how to hurt each other too well. So no, I can’t. Jack, I’m sorry. But I won’t open myself up to you again.”

Jack nodded, numb. “Uh, yeah, I understand. I did hurt you a lot, eh?”

A tense silence rose as they had nothing else to say. It was broken when Kent asked, “Um, will you be all right, Jack? Is your boyfriend there to help you out?”

“Oh, we broke up at the beginning of summer,” Jack said distractedly. _I don’t know what to do. Kenny did let go of me. I pushed him away, and he eventually let go._

“What? Uh, is there anyone there that you can talk with? Why don’t you call your therapist?” nervously suggested Kent.

“Um, well, I’ll be okay. Besides, we’re not really friends so it’s not your concern, eh?” Jack retorted. _Not so nice to say, but it really isn’t his business._

Kent rolled his eyes. “Yeah, asshole, but that doesn’t mean I completely stopped caring for you.” With an obvious effort in controlling his temper, Kent continued, “Just… You’re right. I have no right, but just, I don’t know, call your therapist or your mom if you need to. Please?”

Jack nodded, shortly.

Kent hesitated before continuing. “Maybe one day we’ll be friends again. Maybe we’ll both change enough in the future so that we can talk with each other, without trying to hurt the other. It’s just that – goddamnit, it still fucking hurts, Jack. I’ve finally let you go, but fucking Christ, it hurts like hell, you bastard. Right now, there’s a part of me that wants to hurt you as much as you hurt me. And that’s not right. You don’t deserve that. Nor do I.”

As Jack looked at Kent, he was surprised to see the tears forming in his eyes. _Fuck. I grabbed his heart and stomped on it. And now I’m asking if he’ll give me the remnants of what’s left,_ he realized, horrified.

“Okay, Kent, that’s okay,” he babbled. “But Kenny – Kent, if I show you that I’ve changed, I want to be friends again. I fucked up so much, too much with you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize how lucky I was to have had you in my life until it was too late.”

Kent looked down again, breathing steadily. When he finally looked up, his business persona was on, the tears in his eyes having disappeared. “Okay. I guess we’ll see each other at the end of the month for that Boston exhibition match, right? My PR told me that you and a couple of other Falconers and Bruins were going to play with the Boston Cats and me, so I’ll see you then. And I can get back to you about how you can help with KPF at that time, too.”

As Kent was about to hang up, Jack quickly said, “Kenny. Thank you. Thanks for all you did. I didn’t appreciate it then, but I do, now.”

Kenny’s grief showed as his mask slipped. “Well, I was in love with you. Of course I would’ve done anything for you, Zimms.”

He hung up.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Georgia gives Jack news, which changes things somewhat for the exhibition game. Later, Jack and Kent meet up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-- Again, thank you for the kudos! They make me happy. :)  
> \-- Still sick. Editing is still pretty crappy. Any typos, grammar and spelling errors, and other ilk are mine.

Jack had an emergency session with Shana, right after Kent hung up. ( _I ended up following Kent’s suggestion after all._ ) He was thankful that Marty had his pills. All he could think of was how much he fucked up. He wanted to be numb and be divorced from his tumultuous feelings; taking an extra pill or ten would help with that. She helped him calm back down, and they went over his exercises, step by step, until he was able to process his feelings.

George had scheduled a meeting with him a week later. She wanted to go over the details of the upcoming Boston exhibition game.

George immediately started as he sat in her office. “Okay Jack, after talking with PR, we’ve decided to send you to Boston while Kent Parson’s there. He’ll be there a week before the game for various reasons. Anyway, KPF has agreed that the two of you will be on the same team so you guys’ll need to practice together. It’d be great,” she added with a wink, “If we can see that ‘No Look-One Timer’ you two had.”

After Jack’s hesitant nod, she blithely added, “Oh, and we both want daily photos of the two of you around the city. Think of Parson as your new best friend, and vice versa during that week.”

Jack’s brain blanked out from shock.

“Uh, what? What? Kent agreed to this?” asked Jack. _I seriously doubt he did._

“Yep, KPF’s PR gave me the ‘OK’,”, she solidly affirmed.

“Um, I seriously doubt that Kent himself is fine with this decision. Are you sure?” he insisted.

George narrowed her eyes. “Jack, I remember telling you and Tater to make nice with Parson. We need him for the publicity he generates. Did you say anything to him to harm that relationship?”

“Uh, no! No! We just had a personal disagreement. Business-wise, we’re fine. And I don’t mind being with him. But, uh, I doubt he’d want to hang out with me,” he muttered the last part.

George looked at him, thinking of what he said. “Well,” she finally said, “KPF’s PR said it was fine, so it will be. I’ll ask them again, but I doubt their answer will have changed.”

“Jack,” she continued, “We need KPF, and they need us. Every franchise that worked directly with KPF has been doing exceptionally well, generating more fans because their fantastic PR. The Falconers owner is currently in talks with KPF’s management to pull off a public donation to the charity, basically imitating what the Aces had done with them. We _need_ them. And KPF needs the donations because they want to do even more with their group.”

She added, gently, “You’ll need to put aside any differences you have with Parson. He knows how to play this game and how much he needs us, so no matter what he personally feels, he’ll be professional enough and be all right with you. I know it puts you in an awkward position, but you have to do this and pretend that he’s your best friend for a week.”

“Yeah, okay,” Jack mumbled. _I need to do this. I need to do this for my team. Be Better. Damnit._

 

 

 

That night, Jack again texted Kent.

_I’m trying to leave you alone, but you need to know what my assistant GM told me. It’s important._

Kent okayed another Skype session. When Jack repeated his conversation with George, Kent’s face showed a range of emotions -- surprise, joy, concern, distress – before he finally adopted a blank, professional mien. “Okay, Jack. We can do that. KPF’s PR tends to demand that I do their bidding, so I didn’t hear about their plans about us being bros. No problem, we’ll be fine, okay?”

“Uh, all right. Um, is there anything I should know or do?” asked Jack. _This is going to be an awkward disaster._

“Hm, we need a gimmick,” Kent thought aloud. “Let me check out the Falconers Instagram – holy shit, they made a doll of you? Fuck, I want one of me! That’s not fair, Zimms!” he exclaimed, as he looked up from his cell phone.

Jack chuckled a little. _Maybe the week won’t be that bad? Or more likely, Kent’s good at being professional about all of this._

“All right. Zimms, bring a doll of you to Boston. And – hey, you have a fucking pink jersey! What the hell, you lucky dog! I want one, too! Okay, bring a couple of those as well. I’ll bring my Parson snapbacks – the ones the Aces are selling, they have my name and the rainbow-colored spade on them – and we’ll wear the hats and the jerseys together. The public’ll love that. Oh my god, the Pimms fanfiction will boost astronomically…” Kent’s voice trailing, getting lost in his musings.

“Uh, Kent – what are Pimms? I asked Tater and he wouldn’t tell me. I thought they were an English cookie?” asked Jack, timidly.

Kent’s jaw dropped open. “Jack. You’ve never heard of the term ‘Pimms’? No one told you?” He started cackling.

“Uh, no,” answered Jack, irritated. _What the hell is this?_

“If no one’s told you, then what makes you think I will?” chirped Kent, calming down. “No, seriously, back to business… Hmm. You know what, I have a plan involving the doll. I’ll show you when we meet up in Boston.”

As Kent turned grave, he added, “We’ll be best friends for that week. But it’ll only be for that week, Jack. I don’t want you to believe that we’ll continue a friendship after that. It wouldn’t be fair for you to believe otherwise, all right?”

_This hurts me so much, Kenny. But I know, I understand why you can’t trust me. Damnit,_ Jack thought. He spoke aloud, “Yeah, I know. Uh, I know so you don’t have to worry about me, eh?” he smiled a little, hoping Kent would believe him.

Kent looked in his eyes. He sighed, resignedly, as he said, “I’m sorry, Jack. I really am. We can talk more when we meet up in Boston.”

“Uh, yeah,” Jack looked down. “I’ll see you soon, Kenny,” he mumbled.

This time, Jack hung up first.

 

 

 

It was the last week of August, and Jack had arrived in Boston. After he checked into his hotel, he texted Kent to let him know he was in town.

_Wanna meet at the ice rink? Oh, and bring the doll and the jerseys._ Kent wrote back.

_Sure. Text the address_? Jack agreed.

Grabbing his skates, he walked to a bakery nearby and got whatever pastries he could fit in a box. _I may end up needing them._ After that, he drove to the rink, which looked like a small mom-and-pop place. _This is the address, but why would Kent be here?_ After a quick text notifying Kent he arrived, he walked in the building. He saw the bored, black nail-polished teen manning the front, told her politely that he was there with Kent Parson, who waved him in the general direction of the double doors which were the entrance to the rink.

Kent was there, as were a group of other hockey players. As no one noticed Jack, he watched them for a couple of minutes. They were practicing a game; or rather, Kenny was coaching the other guys, talking to one person patiently, skating to another to help hold the stick more efficiently, grabbing a couple of others and talking them through some strategy, his hands waving in the air. Then someone saw him.

“Hey! Private practice, you shouldn’t be here!” yelled the person.

Everyone else looked up, but Jack only saw Kent as he smiled and skated over. “Hey, Jack. You’re here!” Kent hesitated, then wrapped his arms around him and embraced him. He held Jack for a couple of seconds longer a “bro hug”. Kent finally let go, smiling crookedly. Jack had a lump in his throat, which he swallowed down and moved his arms to return the hug.

_Remember, this is only pretend. This is only for this week._ “Yeah, Kent. I made it here. Thank you,” he said aloud, closing his eyes and holding him back. _Damnit. I want this to be real._

 

 

 

Practice with Kent went smoothly, much more so than Jack thought it would be. At first, the other players ( _Ah, they’re the Boston Cats, the gay team we’re going to play with)_ were distant with him; there was some resentfulness lingering in the air because of Jack’s silence for LGBT+ rights last year. However, with the help of the pastry box and Kent, things got better.

Then, when Kenny split the team up into two, with Jack leading one and Kent the other, the following game was fun. A lot of fun. _When was the last time I played just for the hell of it?_

It was a challenging match. Kent was almost as fast as he was when he was in the Aces; but more surprising was that the other players were _good_. Some were talented enough that they should have been recruited to at least the AHL, if not directly with the NHL. _What are they doing playing on an amateur team?_

When he asked one of the better players why he didn’t go pro, the guy – James – responded, “Well, I love hockey, but I refuse to stay in the closet. We all know how homophobic the league is; Christ, they fucked with both you and Parse. There’s no way I’d join them.”

“Um, I think I got off easy; I wasn’t kicked out of the league like Kent was,” responded Jack, bewildered.

“No way,” James empathically said. “I saw the blatantly illegal hits on you during your games that the refs repeatedly didn’t penalize. No one did a damn thing to curb it. I’m betting they called you ‘fag’ and other slurs during the games and the refs let that slide, too.”

James shrugged as he continued. “Nope, I love my Cats. I have a full-time job, and I don’t play as much hockey as I want, but my team has my back. We’re all either gay, bi, trans, ace, agender, or supportive straight. I know I’m safe. I wouldn’t get that with a pro team.”

 

 

 

After the other members left, Kent and Jack stayed behind to play one-on-one. That quickly devolved into goofing around on skates, spraying as much ice as they could on each other or bumping into one another. It finally degraded to Kent laughing his head off while Jack chased after to wrestle him down. Jack eventually caught him, putting him in a headlock and they winded down, lying on the ice, resting to get their breaths back.

Jack turned his head to look at him and guffawed at what he saw. Kent’s hair was all akimbo, partly out of its hair tie, while his nose and cheeks were a blotchy red from the cold in the air and the speed skating he had just done to get away. Snot dripped from his nose that Kent habitually wiped away with his sleeve, and little tears of laughter leaked from the corners of his eyes. He turned his head, lifting an eyebrow, and Jack grinned, “You look like shit.”

Kent smirked and replied, “Speak for yourself, I bet I look better than you,” and chuckled.

As Jack smiled, enjoying the bright eyes of Kenny as he reached over to tousle Jack’s hair even more, he couldn’t help but think, _You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen._

 

 

 

When they got out of the rink, they discussed where they would have lunch. As Jack looked at his Yelp app on his phone, Kent dug through his backpack. “Ha!” he yelled, pulling some things out.

Kent took out the first item – a white baseball cap, with his last name on the back and the front with the spade colored in bright, sparkly rainbow colors. “You can wear my snapback.” He smirked as he shoved it on Jack’s head. “We need to wear your jersey as well, give me mine,” as he impatiently waited for Jack to pull them out of gear bag.  

After he put the jersey on over his shirt (“Holy shit, this is itchy.” “Yeah, it’s polyester.”) he handed Jack a doll. Rather, it was a Ken doll, with a rainbow-striped jersey and “Parson” written on the back.

“Wow! You did get a Kent doll!” Jack chuckled.

“Uh, maybe. ImayhavecommissionedanEtsysellertocreatethejerseyforthedoll,” Kent mumbled quickly.

Jack bent over, laughing until he had tears in his eyes.

“Hey. Hey! It’s not that funny!” protested Kent.

“It’s hilarious!” gasped Jack, still howling with laughter.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” grumbled Kent. “Anyway, I thought we could post pictures of our dolls around Boston. Fans’ll love that. KPF and the Falconers will be happy as well.”

“Uh, okay; that’s a good idea. Any place we should go after lunch?” Jack asked, wiping his eyes from laughing so hard.

Kent grinned. “I dunno. We can just wander around and take pictures. It’ll be cool.”

 

 

 

They spent the rest of the day posting photos of themselves and their dolls. Fans came up to them, asking for pictures, and posted them as well. Throughout the day, they chirped each other, talking and nudging each other’s shoulders as they meandered throughout the city.

_I miss just hanging out with Kenny,_ Jack thought. _I forgot what it was like, just being with him and not letting hockey be the focus of both of our attention._

He mentally slapped himself. _No, I know it’s only for this week. And Kent’s always been good at making other people feel comfortable. I need to remind myself that this isn’t real. This isn’t real._

They finally ended the day’s postings with a pic of the dolls, looking at the sunset, captioned “Jack and Kent Doll tired after a day of having fun in Boston”. _PR must be loving this,_ pondered Jack. _The “likes” are a lot. Huh. The public likes dolls of us more than the real thing. I don’t understand._

As it turned to evening, they strolled aimlessly on the streets, looking for a place to eat. Interestingly, Kent avoided any bars; and during dinner, he ordered a coke and waived off the wine menu. “I’ve been sober since, um, my last visit to you at Samwell.” After an uncomfortable pause, he added, “I’m not an alcoholic, but, uh, the booze didn’t help when I was being a fucked-up shit at your party.” He forcibly laughed, “Uh, yeah, Jeff – Troy, center on the Aces first line -- said that I was a mean drunk most of the time. Um, I’m lucky he and I are still friends, because I was apparently a real bastard to him whenever I was black-out drunk.”

As they were silent, Kent looked lost in thought when he asked, “Uh, did I ever apologize for being a shit at that party?”

“Um, in your text right after the Epikegster – that was when you also wrote that you were going to delete my number afterwards -- and again in your letter,” Jack answered, not sure of what else to say.

“Huh. Well, let me apologize properly.” He breathed out and squared his shoulders.

“I’m sorry. You were right, I shouldn’t have cornered you at your safe place, but I did it anyway. And even though I was buzzed and hurt and upset, I still said shit that wasn’t right. Um, I’m trying really hard now not to say crap like that anymore. Aparna, my therapist, is helping a lot. A lot. But that still doesn’t fix what I said that night. So, um, I really am sorry. I was wrong. I really fucked that up,” Kent trailed off.

“Uh, Kent, it’s fine now,” Jack responded when he realized Kent was done. He thought some more before continuing, “You’re right, it was fucked up with what you said. But, um, I remember saying a lot of fucked up things to you as well. We both messed up. Honestly, I forgave you a long time ago for that night. Um, I think you’re probably feeling worse about it than I am, to be honest,” he gave a forced laugh.

Kent looked at him before he said, “Okay. I need to let that go, you’re right.” He grimaced as he added, “You know, sometimes it’s harder to forgive yourself than it is to forgive other people. Or at least I have that problem.”

“Um, yeah, I’m like that too, sometimes,” Jack said awkwardly.

Kent looked at his plate, silently, before he continued. “When I told Aparna that we had to be good friends for this week for our organizations, she got really worried. She was afraid that I’d revert back to old patterns and not provide any boundaries for you.”

He laughed without humor. “The thing is, after you Skyped me and asked to be friends again, I kept thinking of you. A lot. You don’t know how tempted I was to call you back and say, ‘Fuck boundary issues, let’s be friends again’. Hell, I even started imagining what it’d be like if we were friends. I was having whole conversations with you in my head. And yeah, I know that’s fucking crazy.”

He grimaced. “The thing is, I was anxious about this week because I fucking _want_ to know you again. I was looking forward to this week, Jack. And --”

He closed his eyes, shutting them tightly before relaxing them and opening them up again. “Today, it was so fucking easy pretending to be friends again. God, our past was so messy and convoluted, so we shouldn’t have been that relaxed with each other. Hell, it’s like the OD didn’t happen, and we’re resuming a friendship directly after those thirty-four awesome days right before the Draft. And that scares me. Being friends with you, especially with all the shit we did and said to each other – god, we hurt each other so much – today should have been hard. But it’s as natural as breathing.”

Jack’s heart sank as he saw the conflict on Kent’s face. _I put that stress on his face. He shouldn’t be going through this._

He carefully said, “Do you want to limit our time together then? As much as I want to know you again, if it’s too hard…” his breath hiccupped, and he clenched his fists under the table, closing his eyes to ground himself, calming ( _I can feel my hands tighten, and then I can feel them relax, I’m in my body_ again) before he continued. “If it’s too hard, we can just meet up for practice and post a couple of pictures right afterwards and then go on our own way. PR should be happy with that. And it’s okay. I understand.” Jack leaned back in his chair, again closing his eyes. _But it hurts._

“No. No, Jack, I don’t want to stop,” Kent murmured, shaking his head as Jack opened his eyes. “But I don’t know if this is healthy for either of us.”

“I just don’t want to hurt you, Kenny,” Jack added quietly. “I don’t want this week to hurt you. You need to let me know if I need to back off.”

“No! I don’t want you to back off! I’ll be pissed if decide not to hang out with me,” Kent said vehemently. After his outburst, he sighed. “You know, it was always so easy for me to fall into your world. No, not just _your_ world. The world that was always just you and me, just Zimms-and-Kenny. But it seems that there’s the Jack-and-Kent world as well; and maybe they’re not as different as I thought they would be.” He laughed a little. “I’m not making any fucking sense, am I,” he said self-deprecatingly.

“Kent, you are. I know what you mean. It was always easy for me, as well, to only see you and no one else,” Jack answered softly. “I meant it when I said it to you, Kenny: those thirty-four days are the happiest days of my life.”

Kent looked at him, eyes wide and glossy. “Mine, too.”

He looked away, taking deep breaths, before he stared back at Jack. “Well, it’s just for this week, right? So for this week, it’ll be the Jack-and-Kent world. And what the hell; we’ll enjoy it, before we have to go back to our real lives and move on. What else can we do, yeah?” Kent grinned his fake, brittle, PR-approved grin.

Jack swallowed. “Yeah. What else can we do?” he answered weakly.

 

 

 

They separated after dinner, Kent refusing Jack’s offer to drive him to his hotel and opting for a cab instead.

After his shower, Jack sat on his bed, mulling over what Kent had said.  _Fuck it,_ he thought.  _I'll enjoy this week. Maybe it's unhealthy for us, but our lives are busy enough and they don't really intersect, so I'll get as much as I can with Kenny this week. This time and opportunity is a gift. I'll appreciate this week, and deal with everything else afterwards._

With that in mind, Jack decided to text Kent to make sure he arrived safely.  _I normally do that for the people I care about, anyway, so it's not odd,_ Jack determined.

He wrote to Kent. _Got_ _back to the hotel. How about you?_

He received an immediate response.

_Thanks for texting. I’m in my room now. Have a good night._

_You, too. Good night._


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack gets a personal revelation.

Jack woke early the next morning. He took his anti-anxiety pill, thankful Shana thought he would be able to handle keeping a week’s worth ( _anyway, a week’s worth really isn’t that much anyway so even if I took them all in one day, I’d be fine, at least physically)._ He hadn’t heard the call of the pills lately, anyway. Maybe he was getting better?

He looked at the hotel directory to see where its weight room was before he headed down to do his run and preseason workout. He grabbed some fruit and a Danish from the complementary breakfast bar as he headed back to his room to be ready for the day.

When he left his bathroom, he saw that someone texted him during his shower. As he looked, he saw that it was Kent.

_Hey, Jack. You free?_

_Hi, Kent. Just got out of the shower but I’m free now._

A couple of minutes after Jack sent his message, Kent called. While he had to do some things with KPF and the homeless center during the morning and afternoon, he planned to practice with the Boston Cats in the evening. Jack was welcome to attend as well; and after their practice, they could work on maybe being able to do their No Look-One Timer again. Afterwards, they could have dinner if he wanted, posting pictures of themselves together.

They hung up, and Jack got ready to start his day.

 

 

 

Jack drove to Salem for the day. He wandered around the area, visiting historical buildings and sites. He enjoyed the tourist guides especially in some of the old houses, and the gravesite was morbidly fascinating. While he didn’t take any photos there, he posted pictures of the dolls in the less ghoulish places ( _I should’ve found little witch hats for them to wear, the internet would probably have liked that_ ). The sales assistant at the tourist shop posed with them during one of the photos, and in exchange he signed his autograph on a Salem brochure.

It was soon time for him to meet with Kent and the other hockey players for practice. He drove back to his hotel in Boston to pick up his hockey equipment and skates. He walked to the same bakery he went to yesterday, getting more pastries for the team as well as a sandwich for himself. Finally, he loaded up his car and headed out to the skating rink.

 

 

 

This time, when Jack went into the building, he saw an older woman manning the desk. She smiled at him as he said he was there for Kent Parson and the Boston Cats. “Yes, yes, you must be Jack Zimmermann!” She held her hand out for him to shake.

“Oh, uh, are you a hockey fan?” he asked politely.

“Oh my goodness, no! Personally, I like figure skating much better, but the Cats are very polite, so I let them practice here at a reduced rate,” she winked.

She continued, “No, I’ve heard of you because you’re the first out NHL player. My wife and I became very big fans of yours.”

“Uh, thank you?” he answered, unsure.

She laughed again. “But where are my manners! My name is Martha. I own the rink, and it’s usually my daughter or I manning the front desk. My wife, Jane, works as a therapist at the Boston homeless center so she’s rarely here. Oh!” she exclaimed. “I just realized – you’re probably here for the grand opening with KPF, so you’ll probably even see her there!”

“Um, wow! It’s a small world, eh?” he awkwardly smiled. _PR needs to teach me how to socialize._

Martha chuckled. “Oh, I suppose, but Jane told me about the Cats – she’s very active with the queer scene in Boston – and how they needed a regular practice rink, so I offered mine at a reduced rate. I’m not as visibly active as Jane is now, but I need to do my part as well, you see,” she winked at him again.

“Uh, well, thank you,” Jack mumbled. Thankfully, a member of the Cats arrived.

“Hi, Martha!” he greeted. “Um, hi, Zimmermann!” he continued. “Martha, we need to go in and start warming up but we’ll hang out afterwards. I need to give you Steve’s pineapple bar recipe anyway, so we’ll be able to talk then!” he smiled, as they walked toward the double doors.

“Uh, thanks,” murmured Jack.

“No problem! Martha’s really sweet but she tends to talk your ear off if you let her. She’s super nice though, and we all really appreciate her,” he replied.

“Ugh. I have to ask, I don’t remember your name,” Jack said, feeling a blush on his cheeks.

“Oh, no worries! My name’s Frank or Frankie. I’m the unofficial Captain of the Cats, unless Parser’s in town. Then I’m the A,” he laughed.  

“And Steve’s your partner?” Jack asked, curious.

“Yep! We got married earlier this past spring, but we’ve been together for a good six years.” He thought for a bit, adding, “Huh. It’s too bad you’re leaving right after the game. If you were a permanent player on our team, you’d see how close-knit we all are, and that includes our SOAPs. We tend to hang out together a lot, not just for hockey.”

“Uh, SOAPs?” asked Jack.

“Oh yeah, that’s Significant Others And Partners. Anyway, if you ever retire from the NHL then you’re always welcome to join our team.” Frank grinned. “I know that may be a while from now, but as the C, I have to try to recruit good players,” he added affably.

 

 

 

Practice was again enjoyable. While they worked hard, wanting to win, there was a camaraderie that Jack hadn’t experienced on any of the hockey teams he’d ever played. _No, it was like that with Samwell a little bit, but I was a harsher captain than Kent and Frank are._ While the Cats were to be separated into two groups for the actual game, there was a level of care and affection all of them had for each other. After practice was over and they left, leaving Kent and Jack on the ice, Jack mentioned his observations to Kent.

“Well, yeah,” he responded. “These players love hockey as much as we do. They bust their asses to be as good as they are, despite that they have jobs and partners and families and other obligations in their lives. If they weren’t LGBT+, a lot of them could’ve gone pro. That’s gotta make some of them bitter, yeah? And there’s a bit of that. Still, they all got to bond over being bi or gay or whatever that isn’t straight, and still being able to play good hockey.”

“Uh, Kent,” Jack began. “Are the other gay hockey teams as good as the Cats?”

“Um, I can’t talk about all of them, since I haven’t seen them play; but, the ones I’ve seen or played against are almost or just as good. If anyone wanted to play hockey for shits and giggles, they tend to join their local beer can teams. But, since there’s still a lot of fucked up homophobia in those groups, or they’re people who would rather just drink at the rink and maybe skate afterwards if they can still stand, the people who seriously want to play and the others who don’t want to deal with that anti-gay bullshit tend to join the queer teams.”

Kent squared his shoulders. “I don’t really have the time to start this since I’m focusing on KPF right now, but I’d love if there were an official gay hockey league one day. Can you imagine that? There’s definitely a need; but it takes a lot of money and time that I don’t have. Maybe one day KPF won’t need me as much, or someone else will make it happen – I don’t know.”

“Anyway, let’s start practicing,” he concluded, “I don’t want to keep Martha up too late.”

 

 

 

Playing with Kent was amazing. They still had a lot to practice together; they didn’t have the “No Look-One Timer” move anymore. _Well, it had been eight years. It makes sense we’re out-of-sync._ They practiced passing the puck to each other as Jack started getting back his, what he used to call “Kenny sense” back in the Q so that he could be aware of Kent’s presence on the ice without needing to see.

_Kent skates beautifully,_ Jack thought wistfully as he watched him move across the ice. Kent’s hockey had changed since the Q: he was stronger, faster, nimbler than ever before. And yet there was a grace to his skating that he always had but became more apparent as he got older. _He’s a better hockey player than me now, even after retiring, and probably always will be,_ Jack realized, a little resentful.

And yet, he knew that made sense. Since Kent kept with the NHL for seven years, playing with and against the best players in the world, his skills were constantly refined and improved. Jack laid low, taking a break and playing with the less skillful NCAA during what some thought were the peak years in a hockey player’s life; and he played with the league for only two seasons. He didn’t regret his time in college, as he needed it before he imploded even more. Yet, he realized – _The consequence of taking a break from hockey during that time is that I won’t ever be a better player than Kent._ And he found that, for him, that was an acceptable trade, surprisingly enough.

He also realized, right then, that the poisonous bitterness and jealousy he had towards Kenny, right after the Draft and during his recovery, had dissipated over the years. _Back at the Draft, we both had to do what we both needed to do. Kent had to move forward and continue playing without me. I needed to get my fucked-up brain and addiction under control. I can’t blame him for going on with his life and his career and doing so well. It was stupid of me to be angry at him for that._

“Huh,” he said.

“What? Did you say something, Jack?” Kent asked across the rink.

“What? Oh. Yeah. I was just admiring how beautifully you skate,” Jack said distractedly, still lost in his personal revelations.

And so he wasn’t expecting Kent’s face to turn bright red as he tripped over his skates and fell.

“Uh, well, you _did_ skate beautifully. I was wrong, apparently,” Jack chirped.

Kent glared at him, trying to stand up. “Shut up. You bastard, you did that on purpose!” he whined.

Jack just laughed as he skated over to help him up.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack volunteers.

Jack’s eyes opened immediately when his alarm woke him up. Even though he should’ve been tired from hanging out with Kent last night, he felt refreshed and alert as he got up, getting ready to head down to the hotel’s weight room.

After his morning run on the treadmill and an upper body workout, he went back to his room and took a shower. As he came out of the bathroom, towel-drying his hair, he saw that Kent texted him again during his shower. _He must wake up around a similar time I do. That’d explain why he texts at around the same time._

_What are your plans for today?_ Kent had texted.

_Don’t have any, other than taking more photos. Why?_

The phone rang immediately after Jack sent his text. He saw it was Kent and picked up the call.

“Hey Jack, if you have no plans, how about volunteering at the homeless shelter today?” was the first thing Kent said.

“Good morning to you, too, Kent. I’m doing better; just spent some time at the hotel gym but I’m done with all that. And how are you?” Jack monotoned.

“Yeah, ha ha,” Kent responded. He added hesitantly, “Um, I have some meetings still with KPF and the homeless shelter since we’re ironing out last-minute details for the opening. They’re boring as hell, so I doubt you’d want to attend those. But would you help out at the shelter itself? They always need volunteers, and you can get good pics of yourself to post which’ll make the Falconers happy.” He quietly added, “Uh, only if you want. The meeting’s only supposed to be for the morning, so we can have lunch together and hang out before we head out to the rink for practice. Um, what do you say?”

“Uh, sure!” blurted Jack. “Um, I don’t know if I’d be helpful, though. I don’t really know how to talk to strangers, as you know,” he admitted.

“Oh, don’t worry about that! They’re super nice,” Kent said, relieved. “They usually need help to restock items or do other grunt work, so you’ll probably be left alone for the most part.”

 

 

 

As they arrived at the shelter, Kent dropped Jack off in a room with another woman, sorting through donations in plastic garbage bags. Kent left to another part of the building and the woman, Jane, put him through work, going through the items and adding to the growing piles of bedding, clothes and unusable items.

“So, you’re Jack Zimmermann! I believe you met my wife, Martha, at her rink?” Jane started conversation.

“Uh, yeah. I appreciate that she lets me use her rink. She, uh, seems really nice,” he said.

Jane laughed. “Oh, did she start talking your ear off? I love her and her chatting, but I know that others may find it somewhat excessive.”

She continued, smiling, “Is it okay if I brought a couple of teens staying here? I know they would love to meet you.”

“Uh, um, yes,” Jack flustered. _Shit. I should’ve said no._

“Oh, wonderful!” she exclaimed. Jane stood up, stretching her arms as she walked to the door. “Oh, I’ve been doing this for a while, need to stretch,” she murmured.

“Oh my, I should warn you,” as she turned her head to Jack, “They may be somewhat starstruck when you meet them. You’re their hero, so they may not be very eloquent.” She laughed as she left the room.

_Shit. This is going to be a disaster._

 

 

 

Shortly after, Jane came back with a couple of teenagers. They both wore clean, if worn-out clothes, and they were good-naturedly complaining to Jane they entered the room. “Ah, Jane, what was such an emergency that you need us for the sorting room!” whined one. “Oh my god, I was about to get food, I’m staaaarving,” bellyached the other.

When they saw Jack, their jaws dropped to the floor. Jane smiled sweetly. “Trey, Jim, this is Jack Zimmermann, volunteering for the day. He’s sorting the donations. I’m sure you two would like to help him.” She grinned even harder. “Oh, and Jim, I’ll bring some doughnuts from the staff room in a little bit, so that should tide you over until lunch, all right?”

“Have fun!” she called out as she left the boys with Jack. “I’ll be back after I’m done with some paperwork!”

“Um, uh,” hemmed Jack to the boys, who still stared at him in shock. “Uh, so my name’s Jack. It looks like there’s a lot to sort, so let’s get started, eh?”

During the first couple of bags, Jim and Trey didn’t say anything directly to Jack. They kept nudging and whispering to each other, however. Finally, Jack cleared his throat and asked, “Uh, so do you two like hockey?”

Trey burst out, “Oh my god, yeah! I love hockey! I used to play a lot before…” his enthusiasm waivered as he swallowed. “Um, before I got kicked out of my house,” he muttered quietly.

Jim put his arm around Trey’s shoulders, providing quiet comfort. _I wish Bittle were here. He’d know what to say._ “Uh, sorry,” he floundered.

Trey looked up and smiled tearfully. “Oh no, you shouldn’t be! You didn’t do anything wrong! I’m just – uh, I’m just lucky I got a bed here so I don’t have to live on the streets. So it’s all cool,” he continued, grinning.

“Uh, well, um, what position did you play?” Jack asked, not knowing what else to say.

Trey brightened up. “I was a D-Man! I loved it! My dream was to be in the NHL ever since I was a little kid!” As he kept raving about his hockey past, Jim looked affectionately, if not a little sadly, at Trey, keep his arm around the smaller teen’s shoulder.

“… and Jim loves hockey, too! You used to play, right?” Trey looked at Jim, elbowing him a little.

Jim smiled widely. “Yep! I played center. I wasn’t very good, but I still loved it. It was really fun and I miss playing.”

“Yeah, center’s fun to play, although I’ve been on defense during some practice games.”

He awkwardly plowed ahead with the conversation. “So, um, you don’t have to answer, but why were you kicked out of your homes?” Jack uncomfortably asked.

Jim shrugged. “Because we’re gay. Our parents didn’t like that. I ran away because they were going to send me to those conversion camps, and I couch-surfed for five months before I burned all of my bridges from taking advantage of my friends.”

He nodded his head towards Trey as he added, “I met Trey when I was living on the streets for a couple of weeks before the shelter had room for us. We were really lucky. Usually there’s not enough beds, but since it’s the summer, most people’ll sleep outside so there’s less demand.”

He smiled widely as he said, “Actually, thanks. After a rough night, I caught one of your ads and I dialed that KPF Hotline. They directed me to this shelter, so thanks for making that ad.”

Trey effusively said, “Yeah, you and Kent Parson saved us from something that could’ve been really bad!”

He calmed, adding, “I was only on the streets for a week before I bumped into Jim behind a Burger King, dumpster diving. I didn’t know how to do anything, and got my stuff stolen the day after I got kicked out.” He smiled at Jim, leaning into him. His grin turned to a frown. “My parents are really religious and joined some of the rallies of the Westboro Baptist Church in the past.” He wrinkled his nose. “I just thought… My parents always said that they’d love me, no matter what, but… I guess I was wrong.”

Trey looked at Jack then, earnest eyes shining, “Thank you, Mr. Zimmermann. Thanks so much. This sounds weird, but you became our hero when you came out. We realized that even though we have nowhere to live right now, you showed us that you can still be out and be okay. It’s hopeful, you know? And I know how hard it’s been – I’ve seen you and the Falconers getting whaled on this past season – but you’re still able to play since they didn’t kick you off the team for being gay. So thank you so, so, much. Jim and I really appreciate your efforts.” He grinned as wide as he could before Trey grabbed his head. “Ow! Ow! That hurts!” “Nope, you need a noogie for that corny speech!”

Jack looked at them, his jaw dropped. “But – but don’t you think I could’ve done more? Don’t you think I’m not doing enough?”

Jim looked at him, deep in thought as Trey straightened his clothes from their mini-tussle. “Well, you publicly came out. Personally, you gave me hope. You told me not to be afraid. And sure, there are still a lot of things that I know aren’t safe for queers, but I’d rather live my life bravely instead of living in fear, you know?”

He added solemnly, “And between you and Kent Parson, you saved us. Living on the streets, especially being so young, is really –" his eyes grew frightened as his voice pitched softly, “well, it’s really dangerous and – there are people out there who – well, there are predators out there. And when you’re a homeless teenager, no one cares about you, even if you end up missing or dead. So you saved us. You and Kent Parson.”

Trey added, “You did a lot already! I’m telling you, you’re not just a hockey superstar, you’re also a hero!”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent gives Jack a pep talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-- Thank you, thank you for the kudos!  
> \-- Will be super busy for the next couple of days, so trying to post an extra chapter today.

Kent came by the sorting room to have lunch with Jack and agreed to let Jim and Trey join them at a nearby restaurant. Jack was afraid Trey’s head was going to explode; apparently Kent was his other hero. Jim was less starstruck and helped temper Trey’s enthusiasm. While Jack was mostly quiet, Kent was able to steer the conversation with the two kids, and they both were soon enthusiastically giving anecdotes and stories, as well as input on things they thought the shelter should provide in the future.

They gave Kent an enthusiastic thumbs up to the new LGBT+ branch. Jim said, “Not all, but a lot of kids I met on the streets and in the shelter were out of their houses because they’re gay or bi or lesbian or trans. I think, especially the people still on the streets, would be more open to use the shelter if they knew they had someone who could help them with their queerness, you know?”

They dropped the kids at the shelter as Kent and Jack left. Kent’s meeting was shorter than he anticipated, so they decided to wander down the waterfront, posting more pics and tweets before heading to the ice rink. (George had texted him earlier, _Keep it up!_ Jack decided to keep her happy.)

“They’re really nice kids,” Kent remarked as they strolled. “I’m glad I was able to meet them.” He sighed gustily. “Usually, I’m only in meetings with upper management so I don’t get to interact with the homeless directly. It sucks – I really, really hate meetings and I’d rather be with the kids – but I know I can do more, doing the boring shit. Still – it was good talking with Trey and Jim,” he finished.

“Uh, yeah, it was,” said Jack. He continued, “Did you know that they think of us as heroes? I don’t understand that. Well, no – I know why you’re a hero, but I didn’t do anything the past season. I don’t really get it.”

Kent looked at him, narrowing his eyes as he thought. “Well, even though you did shit this past season, you did one huge thing.”

He breathed, grabbing Jack’s shoulders. “Jack. You came out. You’re the first out bi NHL professional hockey player. And you’re not some fourth liner: like it or not, you’re hockey legacy, what with Bad Bob being your dad. Hell, you’re like, the prince of hockey, and you risked that all to get out of the closet. So yeah, to a gay, scared teenager, you’re a hero.” He let Jack’s shoulders go and started to walk again.

“But I don’t understand,” protested Jack. “Two kids came out because of me and they died. In the meantime, I didn’t do anything, but I could’ve maybe prevented their deaths somehow.”

Kent stopped again, looking at him. “Yes. You could have done more. But – what about the kids who did come out because of you, but were even better than all right because they had supportive parents and friends and shit?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “You don’t know how things would’ve changed if you were more active last season. Maybe those two kids wouldn’t have come out, had you been more active, and they wouldn’t have died. Or maybe those kids would’ve come out anyway, regardless of what you did or didn’t do. God, we don’t know.”

He sighed. “I’m not excusing your choice to be clueless for the past season. You definitely have a lot to make up for it. But…”

He again breathed out before grasping Jack’s shoulder firmly. “A lot of kids came because you inspired them, and two of those children died. It’s not your fault that they were in unsafe spaces; frankly, that was the fault of the parents so I wouldn’t go so far as to say you’re solely to blame. And sure, you could have done more, but hell – Jack, I was prancing around San Francisco for two months, oohing and aahing over penis cookies and rainbow-painted crosswalks before I started KPF. In the meantime, there were kids getting hurt or hospitalized or forced to live on the streets. Were those injuries my fault because I didn’t start KPF early enough to help or save them?”

Jack mumbled, “No, of course not. But –”

Kent interrupted, “So what makes you different from me? Why is it that I’m not to blame for having started KPF later, but you’re solely responsible for not advocating until a couple of months ago? Jack, I mean this in the nicest of ways: You’re not that special. You’re like all of us, and you can’t –”

He exhaled noisily. “If you keep blaming yourself, you’re going to drive yourself crazy. I mean,” and he gave a weak grin, “’Just try to do better in the future, alright? You made a mistake in the past, and so you’re striving to be better today.”

He nodded. “I mean, that’s all we can do, anyway.” And then he stepped up to Jack and hugged him briefly before letting go.

“Uh, why’d you do that”? Jack stammered, shocked.

Kent smiled crookedly. “I dunno. It seemed like a good idea. And anyway, you looked like you needed one.” He chuckled. “Okay, let’s get the dolls out and pose them,” he toothily grinned as he nudged him gently.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Kent get into conflicts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-- Kudo thanks!!!! :)  
> \-- Had time to post this chapter. We're getting close to the end!

It was Wednesday evening. Kent and Jack had just finished dinner at a Vietnamese restaurant after their nightly practice. They were getting their “No Look-One Timer” move down. _If we can do this consistently, we’ll destroy the other team,_ Jack’s competitive nature thought. Kent seemed a little quiet throughout practice and dinner, but Jack thought that, as they were got closer to the grand opening and game, his daily meeting with KPF and the shelter might have been more stressful than usual.

During dinner, Jack sent a photo of his pho to the Samwell group chat that he was still a part of ( _I haven’t posted anything here in a long while)_ , adding to it “Lardo, I should have begged you to introduce me to Vietnamese food earlier. Really, really, good.”

Shitty responded immediately – _You beaut! You ate Vietnamese without me!_

Lardo texted as well, a few minutes later: _Yep. The broth looks good but my grandmother’s is probably better. *evil grin* If you’re ever in New York, I’ll take you to the good pho joints here._

As Jack smiled at his phone – _I really need to update them with my life. I’ve been neglecting them this past season,_ he thought – he could feel Kent’s glare at him.

“Uh, do I have food all over my face?” he asked. “I might have given myself a broth bath,” he weakly joked. _Eating those slippery rice noodles with the big plastic chopsticks were… challenging._ He ended up using a fork instead, amidst Kent’s sullen attitude.

“It’s fucking rude to text while you’re with someone else,” Kent snapped.

“Well, you’ve been piss-poor company tonight so I wanted to talk to someone who’d appreciate the food more,” Jack automatically sniped back.

The minute he heard himself he thought dismally, _No, I’m better than this. I’m better at dealing with an angry Kent; we’re not seventeen anymore._ “Wait,” Jack commanded as he breathed in and then out, feeling his fidget toy in his pocket, grounding himself as, Kent, although clearly annoyed, followed Jack’s command.

Finally, Jack spoke up. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, I don’t expect you to be happy all the time. And you’re right; it _is_ rude to text while having company, so that’s my bad.”

He started rambling. “I just wanted to let Lardo – she’s that girl who beat you at Flip Cup during Epikegster – know I was eating some pho. Uh, she’s Vietnamese-American, and I wish I picked her brain more about Vietnamese food back in school. That’s all.”

Kent looked away and sighed gustily before he spoke up. “No, I’m sorry. I’m just frustrated right now and I’m taking it out on you, which is fucked up of me to do.”

Jack tentatively asked when he realized Kent wasn’t going to continue, “Uh, what happened?”

Kent kept looking away from Jack, taking off his snapback and running his hands through his hair. “I’m just… oh, hell. I’m working my ass off for KPF, but it still doesn’t seem to be enough. It’s frustrating as hell.”

He added quietly, “It’s normal, I guess, that during the colder seasons, there’s a shortage of beds in homeless shelters. The underage have first dibs; but the minute they turn eighteen, they lose their spot. It’s really – fuck. It’s fucked up. But these shelters are barely making it, since they’re surviving on donations or grants, so they can’t increase the number of their beds.”

He continued, “Anyway, I was thinking about Jim and Trey. I bumped into them today when I went to the shelter, and I asked them where they were going to apply for college. Jim laughed at me.”

“Jack,” Kent finally looking at him, “They both dropped out of high school. Neither of them want to go back; Jim would have to redo his junior year, and Trey said he was always bullied for being a little too different. So what are they gonna do? Jim’s going to turn eighteen in December, and Trey in April. While Trey has some time, he’s probably going to leave with Jim since they’re dating. But December – it gets fucking cold here. There’s snow outside. And they’re supposed to sleep in that kind of shit weather? Fuck.”

“But what about foster care? Aren’t they qualified for that?” asked Jack, bewildered.

“Yeah, but neither want to go through the government system. Jim told me that if they force him into foster care, he was going back out on the streets regardless of the weather. In fact, a lot of the homeless kids deliberately stay on the streets and avoid the shelter because they don’t want to be a part of the system and get sent back to their homes; or they were in foster care, which ended up being worse than living on the streets.”

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I already called Liz, my scary competent lawyer, to do something for Jim and Trey. Maybe KFP can create a grant for young adults and help Jim with an apartment or something. I dunno, but I know she’ll be able to get something going so he’ll be okay. Still –” as he hesitated.

“Shit, Jack,” Kent put his hat back on and rubbed his face. “No matter what I do, it’s not enough. It’s not fucking enough. And I know, I know that there are a helluva lot more Jims and Treys out there. Christ. I’m frustrated as all hell.”

Jack, looking straight at Kent, saw the wrinkles beginning to form around his eyes and his mouth. He saw the bags under his eyes, the pallor of his skin. _He’s had the weight of so many on his shoulders ever since he started KPF,_ Jack realized.

“Kent,” Jack began. “Let me say this, please be patient with me? I’ve always had a difficult time with words, as you know.”

At Kent’s slow nod, Jack started. “Kenny, you’ve been doing all you can. You’re right; it’s not enough, yet. There will be other Treys and Jims that slip through the cracks. But one day, what you’re doing will be enough. Uh, if you want to think in metaphors, KPF is the pebble that starts the avalanche – and from the way things are going, there’s going to be an avalanche – but that pebble needs to gain momentum. And that momentum will take time, no matter how you want to speed up the process.”

“Shit,” Jack laughed. “You’ve already done so much. You’ve set up a nationwide hotline to direct the homeless to safe places. You’re raising money and publicity and awareness. I don’t doubt that KPF will, eventually, raise enough to increase beds in all the shelters around the country so everyone will have a place to sleep. You are the most stubborn, determined person I’ve ever known, so I know you’ll save everyone you can.”

“But Kenny,” Jack added, “You’re still not going to be able to save everyone. That’s just not possible. People will get hurt and die, no matter how much you or I or anyone will do. Plus, not everyone will want to be saved. You aren’t responsible for their choices. You can’t be.”

He sighed. “You told me last night that I’m not that special, that I’m not wholly responsible for the kids who died after coming out from my throwaway line. Well, it’s the same for you, too. Kent Parson, you are not that special.”

Jack looked down, not able to look at Kent’s eyes any longer. He murmured, “We’re just both trying the best we can. We can’t expect to do anything more.”

 

 

 

They ended up sitting outside on a public bench after dinner. They sat silently. _I don’t know what else to say. Kent doesn’t seem to be okay. I must have not been very comforting._

Kent finally stood up, clapping his hands. “So, hey,” Kent started. “You don’t have to answer, but why exactly did you and your ex break up? I thought you two were the Hallmark romance. I mean, I figured you guys would get married and live happily ever after with 2.5 kids and a dog.”

_I guess we’re not talking about his guilt. Okay. That’s okay._

“Huh,” Jack said. “Uh, no, I don’t mind telling you. Do you want the short answer or the long one?”

“Um, both?” Kent replied.

“Okay. The short answer is that we broke up because we publicly came out; however, the long answer’s more complex.”

He breathed in, then continued, “Bittle’s pretty young. I was his first boyfriend. He went on maybe two dates before me; and one of them ended up vomiting all over his shoes. In short, he really didn’t have a whole lot of relationship experience.”

Kent interrupted, “But what about high school? I mean, he’s an objectively attractive guy so I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that he didn’t start dating until college.”

Jack sighed. “Well, Bittle grew up in a conservative town in Georgia. He was very deep in the closet – he wasn’t even out to his parents when we kissed at the Finals -- but he inferred that he was bullied anyway. Before he played hockey, he was a talented figure skater before he quit and he loves baking and Beyonce – he fits the stereotype.” He shook his head. “He couldn’t even take a check his freshman year at Samwell. If anyone even brushed against him on the ice, he’d faint, so I’m guessing some bad shit happened to him.”

Kent’s jaw was open. “Holy shit. He had fucking PTSD. What the hell did his classmates do to him? Did he quit figure skating because it was too ‘girly’? Oh my god, the poor kid.”

“Wait,” abruptly stopping his tirade as he narrowed his eyes, “Jack. Tell me you talked with him about this. Tell me you made sure he got therapy for the PTSD, at least. Please.”

Jack squirmed under his intense stare. “Uh, well, I don’t think he had therapy, but I gave him regular checking practices his freshman and sophomore year. I worked with him to get over the fainting. And uh, he never went into details, so I don’t really know why he quit skating.”

Kent closed his eyes as he breathed out, “What did you do during the checking practices?”

Jack looked down. “Uh, I kept checking him – gently though, of course – until he got used to it. And it worked his freshman year, until he got a concussion from a game at the end of that season. We had regular checking practices again during his sophomore year and he got better much more quickly, so it all worked out.”

Kent opened his eyes, looking at the ground, breathing in and breathing out. “Jack. You are a moron. No, that came out wrong. Let me restart.” He paused, visibly calming himself down. He finally spoke. “Jack. Bittle has PTSD. Fainting from a light tap is _not_ normal. Using exposure therapy without professional guidance, which is what you did in your checking practices, is _fucking nuts_. And a fucking concussion? What the fuck were you thinking?” He exhaled. Breathed, while Jack slowly became outraged.

“Jack. I’m trying really hard to be calm and not to be accusatory, but – what you did was so fucked up. PTSD is serious, and not something to fuck with. It permanently and physically changes your brain, for chrissakes. I don’t know if you’re still in touch with Bittle, but you should really tell him strongly to get therapy. Please. I’d do it, but I think he hates my guts. Because the thing is that untreated PTSD will come back in his life unexpectedly and bite him in the ass. Seriously.”

Jack inhaled. He could feel anger brewing in his gut. _What the hell does Kent know?_ He said, “Okay, but what makes you an expert on PTSD? You don’t know Bittle, so you can’t just decide he has that.”

Again Kent shut his eyes and exhaled. “Jack, I know about PTSD because I have it from discovering your dead body in the bathroom. I get _triggered_ when I see closed bathroom doors, which is so fucking stupid, but that’s what it is. And I have a very good friend who not only has severe PTSD but also heads PTSD group therapy sessions a couple times a week. Before he got treatment, he literally almost _killed_ his partner when he was triggered. Jack, I know a helluva lot more about the condition than you think; and it’s fucking obvious that Bittle developed it as well.”

He added, frustrated, “C’mon! You have to admit it’s not fucking normal to faint from a light tap. That’s a fucking trigger for Bittle.”

He softened a little as he saw Jack’s stricken face. _What? I gave Kenny PTSD? What?_

“Look, Jack,” he started. “I didn’t tell you about me to make you feel bad, okay? I’m getting treated for it so things are better. And I know that you had no idea that your checking practices were really fucked up, and that you only intended to help Bittle. But now you know, okay? And if you’re ever in a situation like that again, or if you decide to find out more about PTSD so that you could maybe help someone who has it in the future, or whatever, that’s great. All right?”

“Anyway, we got way off the subject,” Kent continued. “Maybe you can tell me the rest of why you guys broke up later, okay?”

Jack grunted. His brain kept repeating _I gave him PTSD,_ bouncing around his skull.

Kent looked at him steadily before facing him. “Jack. Look at me. Talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking right now.”

Jack cleared his throat. Cleared his throat some more. Tried to talk but nothing came out. Paused, and breathed in before breathing out, “I didn’t realize just how bad it was for you. I know you called Emergency and you did CPR when you discovered me in the bathroom. Hell, Kenny, you saved my life. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be here today.”

He despaired. _I keep hurting him._ “And instead of thanking you for it, my parents kicked you out of their lives. I ghosted and ignored you. You had to deal with being a rookie in Vegas, by yourself, without anyone to help and support you. You got fucking PTSD from my OD. God, Kenny – I really am a selfish bastard, aren’t I?” He gave a weak, humorless grin.

Kent exhaled. “We bastards both have a hard time forgiving ourselves, don’t we? Okay, I’m going to repeat what you told me,” he laughed a little.

“Jack,” he stated earnestly, “I forgive you. I forgave you a while ago. The thing is, the past happened, and we can’t change it, no matter how much we want to. All we can do is make sure they don’t happen again and to do better next time.”

Jack laughed, brokenly. “I had a poster in college that only stated, “Be Better”. I hung it on my wall, so it’d be the first thing I’d see when I woke up and the last thing before I went to bed. Bittle and Shitty – my best friend in college – hated that poster and burned it at the end of my senior year. They didn’t understand.  But after Bittle and I broke up, I got another copy. I need the reminder. If I don’t remember, I’ll forget, and I’ll mess up. Crisse, Kenny – I ruined your hockey career because I fucking forgot.”

His voice caught onto a small sob. “It’s just so hard. It’s hard to remember to be better than who I was before. It’s so easy to be a bastard again and let everyone else take care of my choices and me. But I can’t do it. I have two teens who died because of me. So I can’t go back. But it’s so fucking hard sometimes. Crisse, there are kids who actually believe I’m some sort of fucking _hero_ ,” he scoffed.

Kent said nothing, but embraced Jack, rubbing circles on his back, rocking him slightly. As he held Jack, Jack silently cried in earnest. Tears kept falling uncontrollably as he thought of Bittle and him growing so far apart even though Jack had so very much loved him once upon a time; as he thought of the past year and the silent accusations in his teammates’ eyes and the ache in his bones and his body after the violent hits from every game that had become a hated chore in a sport he used to worship; as he thought of the teens that died because of his selfish actions and careless words, teens who would never grow up and fall in love and become adults and live and live and live.

As he gradually stopped crying, he lifted his head and laughed a little. “I ruined your shirt. There’s snot and tears all over it.”

Kent smiled a little. “No worries, since it’s just your jersey. It’s fucking poly, so it’ll probably look all right after I rinse it tonight.” He added gently, “Have you grieved before just now? I mean, were you able to just cry over everything that happened? Or is tonight the first time?”

Jack thought about it before answering, “Uh, no, not before. The last time I cried was when we Skyped. I’m not really a crier, although you bring it out of me,” he joked.

Kent looked worried. “Hey, I don’t mind. It’s actually good for you to be able to let it out, you know? Hell, Jack, you went through a lot this past year, so I’m worried about you if right now is the first time you’ve really cried over this shit. Maybe something to talk to your therapist about?” he added, hesitantly.

“Yeah yeah, mom,” Jack chirped.

Kent again stared at him. “I’m serious, Jack. You deserve to cry, all right? You deserve to grieve, too. A lot of shit happened to me because of that kiss at the Cup win, but a lot happened to you, too.”

As he continued to rub his back, soothing him, Jack leaned his head back onto Kent’s shoulder. He thought nothing, blankly feeling Kenny holding him, keeping him safe.

 

 

 

This time, Kent took Jack’s offer to give him a ride, but he insisted on being dropped off at Jack’s hotel and cabbing it back to his place. When Kent told Jack about the ride arrangement, he continued with “You’re my friend this week, and I take care of my friends; so no arguments from you, Zimms.” _I wish it were longer,_ he thought sadly.

Jack made sure Kent texted him when he arrived in his hotel room safely.

_Got back all right. Are you going to bed right now?_

Jack responded quickly.

_Yeah. Crying wore me out so I’m tired._

_Yep, I get exhausted, too, after a good cry. Maybe a good bath could help as well? Oooh, you can use bath bombs from Lush. We’ll get some tomorrow. They’re fucking awesome._

_What are bath bombs? They sound threatening._

_You’re chirping me, aren’t you?_

_And what’s lush? A lush bush? A lush tree? What kind of plant grows these bombs that you’re talking about?_

_Fuck off. Good night. :)_

_Good night. And thanks for being there tonight. :)_

_No prob. And thanks, Zimms, for talking to me in the restaurant. This week’s been nice. I’m glad we have this._

_Me, too._


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tater arrives early. Later, Jack cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much time today, but I wanted to post something. Editing is crappy. Sorry!

Jack’s alarm woke him up the next morning. He didn’t sleep well; his brain kept drifting to last night’s breakdown. He finally got up at around two in the morning and typed an e-mail to Bittle. _Kent’s right, I owe Bits an apology. And if he really does have PTSD, he needs to address it while he’s in safe surroundings._

As he blearily got out of bed, he grabbed his meds, opened the bottle and took out his daily dose. He stood there, looking at it. _I didn’t have an urge to take them all last night; in fact, I forgot about them. Maybe I really was just, as Kent called it, “grieving”. Huh. I need to talk to Shana about this in our next session._

He trudged down the stairs to do his treadmill run and workout. Ignoring everyone, he concentrated on his sets and focused on the strain of his muscles as he automatically ran on the treadmill.

He got his morning text from Kent, again while he was in the shower. However, he also got another from Tater.

_Love family but they drive me nutty when I am with them too long! In Boston early, I know you here. Saw doll posts. Meet today?_ Tater texted.

Kent had written, _Hey Zimms. I need to be at the shelter all day for last-minute prep for the opening tomorrow. Meet at tonight’s practice and dinner again?_

Jack thought before responding to Tater, _Yeah, let’s hang out, I can meet at your hotel in an hour?_

He also texted to Kent, _Tater – Alexei Mashkov – is in town. Is it okay to bring him to practice tonight?_

There was a pause before Kent responded, _Sure! We can have dinner together afterwards, too._

Jack texted Tater, _Make sure to bring your hockey gear, we’ll keep it in my car. We’re going to practice with the Boston Cats and Kent Parson tonight before having dinner with him, is that all right?_

Tater responded with a resounding _Yes!!!_

 

 

 

Tater left his skates and gear with Jack’s in his car as they planned to go directly to the rink after spending the day together. In the meantime, Tater had googled for the most touristy spots in Boston, and wanted to go to them all, posing for photos and taking pics to post. (“No fair! I want doll too! Go to toy store and get one!” “Uh, Tater, I doubt they’d have a doll with your hockey jersey.” “No! We try!”)

Finally they sat down for lunch at a quiet Japanese ramen restaurant. (“Zimmboni noodle photo from last night looked good, so I want noodles for lunch!” enthusiastically told Jack. “Also, tired of Russian food. Mamochka good cook, but I ate Russian everyday for past month, three times a day. Too much,” he added conspiratorially.)

As they sat there, waiting for their order, Tater looked like he wanted to say something. He’d start to say a word, and then shut his mouth, frowning and thinking.

Finally, Jack exasperatingly said, “Tater, I know you have something to say. What is it?”

“Um, I want to say sorry you and Bitty Bits not together now. I wanted to talk about in Las Vegas, but I not know good English words to say sorry for that,” he revealed.

He sighed heavily. “English – hard for me. People think, ‘Oh, that big Tater is dumb, can’t speak good English!’ But – I not stupid, language just jumbled up in head. So now I try to say, I am sorry. I know you had hard season, and I could not protect on ice from bad checks. I also sorry for not being good friend for Zimmboni past season. I am sorry, very sorry,” he ended, abashed.

“Tater,” Jack began, “It’s okay. Honestly, I was wrapped up in my own head for the past year, and not in a good way. I pushed everyone away, including you. Hell, I didn’t even know _why_ your family had to move to the States; Bittle had to tell me after that short phone call he had with you last spring.”

Jack continued, “Truthfully, I wasn’t a very good friend to you at all. I should have known about the danger your family was in after you defended me in that Cup presser. I should have known what you were risking for yourself when you spoke up for gay rights. I should have thanked you, at least, but I never did. Shit, I should have helped you and your family,” frustrated with himself.

Tater started looking worried. “Nyet, nyet Zimmboni. I made choice to speak at presser. I believe everyone can love who they want to love – man, woman, both, neither, everyone, anyone. Love is good thing so why have problem with it? I have no regret. And – I may have been little mad at Zimmboni for not doing anything else in season besides bad ‘You Can Play’ video. But I not mad now. I feel dumb for being mad, I sorry to you for that,” he shrugged.

Before Jack could say anything else, their food came. “Ooh, good!” Tater beamed. “Take photo! Now!” he laughed, and the waiter took a photo of them with the steaming bowls of ramen.

 

 

 

After they slurped their noodles, they waited for their mochi ice cream dessert (“Ooh, order all flavors! I eat all!” “Tater, there are six different kinds.” “Good, lots for me!”) Tater asked Jack, “I do not know you good friend to Kent Parson. What happened?”

Jack stuttered, “Um, we’ve been told by KPF and the Falcs to be close friends this week for good PR. Why?”

Tater frowned. “Oh. Just for PR sake? Hmm.” He looked away before adding, “I say sorry to Parson in Las Vegas, sorry for calling Little Rat. What happen on ice stay on ice, da?” He looked at Jack, leaning over, “But you two friends after this week, da? Photos seem like you two very good buddies.”

Jack shrugged. “I’d like to. It’s just that our past relationship is… uh, really complicated. I hurt him a lot. Understandably, he’s a somewhat reluctant to start up a friendship with me.”

Tater looked at him, lost in thought. “I think, maybe Kent Parson want to be friend again even after this week, looking at pictures. But we see, da?”

He beamed at Jack and gave him a wink. “More important question is this. Parson still good player? Or easy to beat now?”

Jack chuckled. “Tater, you’ll see tonight; but there’s a reason why he was considered one of the best hockey players of our age. In fact,” he couldn’t help but brag, “I’d say he still is one of the best, despite being retired for a year.”

Tater frowned a little, “Still good? Still play like pro? Why retire?”

His expression darkened as he continued. “Wait – gossip is true? Aces forced retirement on him because he gay? Nyet, nyet – Las Vegas mess up if they do that. We get him back to league, he play for Falconers,” he stated.

Jack exhaled heavily. “No, he’s really dedicated to KPF now. He still plays hockey, but with an amateur San Francisco gay team. I doubt that he’ll ever play for the NHL again, not after the way the Aces kicked him off the team.”

Tater sat, shaking his head. “That wrong. Not right. Kent Parson gay, no big deal. Why do Aces care? He great player, got two Cups for Aces, Calder, other awards, break records.”

He looked at Jack, thinking aloud. “Why do we play for league? Falconers good for gays, but most teams not. More violence on ice and insults in games from past season show they anti-gay.” He shook his head again. “I love hockey, it is my life. But is worth it? Sometimes, I don’t know. I don’t know.”

Jack didn’t know what to say other than, “Yeah, Tater. I don’t really know, either.”

 

 

 

Tater _adored_ everyone at practice. He loved the ice rink and ended up showing Martha pictures of his family as they chatted for half an hour before Jack had to tear him away. Alexei was amazed at the skill level of the Boston Cats, and complained that Jack should have told him how good they all were so he could have arrived in Boston to practice earlier. (“Thought they easy to beat! Now they beat me! Need more practice!”) The Cats crowded around Tater, as they instantly were attracted to his open, exuberant personality. Kent chuckled quietly at how popular Mashkov was with everyone as he skated over to Jack, abandoned on the other side of the rink.

“Hiya Zimms, didja miss me?” he smirked.

Jack leered at him. “Stop deluding yourself, you smug bastard,” laughing as he gently checked him.

Kent’s smirk turned into a little smile. “Seriously, how are you? I saw the photos you and Mashkov posted. Wow, he dragged you everywhere, didn’t he?”

Jack retorted, “He did, but I’m still more than ready to beat your ass tonight,” grinning toothily.

Kent’s smile grew. “You _are_ in a good mood. All right, we’ll see who beats whose ass, but I hope you can accept defeat gracefully.”

“Hey! Let’s bet: Winner decides where to eat dinner tonight, and loser pays. Hope you have enough money on you,” chirped Jack.

“You’re on! Okay, let’s start then!” agreed Kent. “Hey, everyone, we all warmed up now? Let’s start!” he hollered, starting the practice that night.

 

 

 

Neither won; they tied, so Tater decided on dinner. (“I want steak! Meat and potato like my name! Ha ha!”) Throughout the meal, Alexei looked pensive, watching as Kent and Jack continued chirping each other; their good mood and rapport carried over to the meal.

Tater did ask Kent if he’d ever join the Falconers, which Kent quickly answered no (“I love KPF and I get my hockey fix with another gay team in the City,” he factually replied).

Finally, Tater begged off after dinner and as he left, he looked at Jack, stating matter-of-factly, “I talk to you later. Have dinner in Providence before season start, da?”

“Uh, sure,” answered Jack, perplexed.

“And Kent Parson, I thank you for practice tonight! Fun time! I had good time playing you. I am on your team, da? I not play against you, you too good!” Mashkov grinned as he got into a cab.

Kent decided that he wanted dessert, so they found a café open nearby. As they wandered in and ordered their drinks and pastries, some fans recognized them and wanted photos. After they received their order, they took pictures with their fans. Next, they decided to pose their dolls with their drinks.

It was while they were arranging the dolls that Kent briefly told Jack why he and his ex split up. “Basically, we’re both way too busy. Tim’s going to save the world; he’s super smart – graduated from Stanford – and works at a company trying to find cheaper ways to map genes. If they can do that, then that would accelerate gene therapy and doctors would be able to fix genes of fatal diseases like cancer and cystic fibrosis and shit. So he spends a fuckload of time at his job.”

He added, “On top of that, he spends his free time and weekends mentoring underprivileged youth, getting them into the computer field and out of poverty. He also makes sure to spend time with our friends, who have regular dinners three times a week at Jack and Ed’s house. I usually only make it to two, what with my own crazy schedule.”

“Anyway,” Kent added as he posed his Kent doll just so, “We just didn’t have time. If we shared the same passions, we’d probably be still be together, but he’s not interested in hockey and I know fuck-all about computers.”

“Still,” he added thoughtfully. “We love each other. It was an amicable split. We’re only good friends, we’re not sleeping with each other, and we both know that either or both of us could end up being with someone else. But down the line, if we’re both single and have more time to dedicate to a relationship, we’d probably hook up again.”

He shrugged. “In short, the love is still there, but the timing isn’t.” He half-smiled. “What can you do, eh?”

Jack nodded, feeling a little jealous as he said, “I’m really sorry it didn’t work out. Tim sounds like he’s a fantastic guy.” _And I mean that. Mostly. But I’m relieved, too._

Kent smiled, “Thanks. But enough about me. You never did finish why you and Bittle broke up, did you?”

Jack haltingly answered, “Right. I can tell you the rest of it now, if you want to hear it.”

Kent scrutinized Jack before he said, “If you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to. Seriously, no pressure from me.”

“Uh, no, I’d like to,” Jack answered, hesitatingly.

He breathed out as he started. “Okay. So Bittle was inexperienced in relationships when he and I got together. At first, I didn’t think that was a problem. And Bittle was – he was extremely nurturing and loving and accepting of me and my faults. We were like the characters of one of Maman’s sappy romance movies, but I was happy. We were both happy.”

Jack moved his doll closer to Kent’s. “Okay, that looks good, I’m going to take the photos. Anyway, Bits wanted to be out. He was tired of hiding, probably because he had to be so closeted growing up. At first, it was fine; we told our close friends and I told my team and George. There were a couple of guys on the team who didn’t seem okay about it; but overall, everyone was accepting.”

Kent leaned over to see the photo Jack took. “I’ll post this picture, that okay?”

“Yeah,” Kent answered. “Alright, go on.”

Jack continued as he posted the photo, “So when the Falconers won the Stanley Cup, and Bittle came out on the ice, and I could see Marty and Thirdy and the other guys giving their wives kisses, I wanted to kiss Bittle as well. At first I said no when Bits asked why we shouldn’t; but when he asked again, I said ‘yes’ and we kissed.”

Kent’s jaw dropped. “Um, so you guys didn’t plan this out? It was a spontaneous decision? Wow, Jack – just, wow.”

Jack sighed. “Yeah. You’re right. In retrospect, I shouldn’t have kissed him. We should have discussed it together and come out less dramatically, certainly not right after winning the Cup. To be honest, I regret it, and blamed Bittle a lot for the past year, even though I know I also made the decision to kiss him.” He ran his hands through his hair. “I’m still working with Shana about not blaming Bits.”

He looked at his phone and showed Kent the “likes” they already garnered from the photo. “You heard about that summer. After I spent my Cup Day at Samwell, Bitty and I spent the rest of our free time in France. We were in our own world, and I found the press and cameras and publicity annoying, so I avoided them.” He snorted. “Crisse, I’m arrogant, aren’t I?”

Kent patted his shoulder reassuringly before asking, “And then what happened when you guys got back to the States?”

“Our insular world dissolved very fast. Rather, Bittle was still in his own romance movie, but I was thrust out of it very quickly. Papa and Maman did a lot to smooth ruffled NHL feathers, but it wasn’t enough. At that point, I still didn’t realize that I couldn’t just come out and be left alone. When George finally got me to do some of those early ‘You Can Play’ videos, I was pissed off since I never even wanted to do them.” He shook his head. “I was naïve when I kissed Bittle. I thought the Falconers were family. While we were a close-knit team, I forgot the franchise’s main objective is to make money.”

Kent nodded as he straightened in his seat. “It sounds like it was really rough when the season started.”

Jack nodded back as he said, “Yeah. About a quarter of the Falconers requested trades over the summer; that went up to half the team after the first couple of games. The other franchises were _brutal_. Sure, I was the biggest target, but everyone else was free game, too. During the first preseason match, one of ours had to be stretchered out. It was fucking – it was really fucked up.” He muttered bitterly, “And the fucking refs didn’t call the other teams out most of the time. What a fucking mess.”

“What about Bittle? Was he supportive enough when you realized how shitty everything was turning out for you and the Falconers?” prompted Kent.

Jack groaned. “He tried to be there. But he was still in his own little Disney world. He wouldn’t listen. When I mentioned the team getting angry with me, he made a lot of pies and said they’d be all right after eating them. Or when I told him about George getting more upset with me, he breezily said that she was just working too hard but after his delicious scones she’ll ease up.”

“Did you tell him that his baking wasn’t going to help this time?” inquired Kent.

Jack’s shoulders fell. “I tried. When I told him most of his pies were thrown away, he became very upset; he kept talking of how they weren’t accepting him, so he was going to make them more baked goods until they liked him again. He just wouldn’t get that it wasn’t Bittle my team had a problem with, it was me and there was nothing he could do about it.” Jack looked at Kent. “Bittle cried when I told him about the tossed pies. He was upset for days; I don’t think he’s over it to this day. In the meantime, he wasn’t listening to me at all.”

Kent stared at his empty plate, thinking. “It sounds like his self-esteem’s built around what he can give to other people, honestly. It’s kind of like a little kid giving someone candy if they’ll be his friend. If the candy’s rejected, then the kid’ll think it’s because they don’t want to be his friend, when the truth is that they may not like the candy that’s being offered, simple as that.”

“Yeah, exactly,” said Jack. “I stopped telling him what was going on. It would piss me off, the few times I tried, because his answer was always ‘Pie will solve your problems’, blowing me off. And,” he continued, looking down, “I’m ashamed to say, but I was blaming him a lot for coming out. I was so _angry_ at him, and I was afraid to show how pissed off I was. Stupid, I knew even then, but – anyway, as I said, Shana and I are working on it.”

Kent looked at Jack. “So it was the lack of support that Bittle gave that prompted you two to break up?”

“Uh, well – I stopped saying much to Bittle. He talks a lot, but as shit after shit kept happening during the season, I stopped caring about his problems. He’d call to complain about jam wars between his relatives; or he was always procrastinating on writing his thesis, complaining about having to write it at all; or how one type of flour was better than another type in whatever he was baking; or whatever else that I just didn’t care about,” he said.

“I realized, at one point, that I didn’t need to talk much to him. He didn’t care if I responded back or not. And that made it harder for me to love him.” He heaved a sigh. “To be fair, maybe he did care, but he didn’t know how to tell me. I was being a hockey robot and was probably unapproachable; and Bittle was never good at confrontation. But -- we were supposed to be a team, he and I – but last season, we weren’t at all.”

“So you guys couldn’t support each other, and there was a lack of communication,” Kent summarized.

“That, and he decided to take a job in New York, rather than stay with me in Providence. Which is great for him, and despite our past issues, I’m very proud that he got it,” Jack added hastily. “It’s a Food Network job, so he gets to create recipes or something like that. He didn’t want a long-distance relationship; and it’s just as well, with all the problems we had.”

Kent nodded. “Anything else?”

“Well -- he was upset that he wasn’t the first person I fell in love with. He said something about how we were supposed to be each other’s ‘first loves’ and it wasn’t fair to him that he wasn’t mine. I still don’t understand that,” he shrugged.

“Oh, Zimms,” Kent shook his head. “Bittle really does sound young, but he was upset because he wanted you to feel the same for him as he did for you. I mean, you don’t ever forget your first love; even if things end up fucked up or perfect or in-between, you just don’t forget. You do all of your ‘firsts’ with that person – first love, first kiss, first making out, first Valentine, first whatever. It just sounds like Bittle wanted to be like that for you.”

He smiled a little. “I mean, we both have had relationships after our first loves, and we know that they can be just as special or messed up or whatever as that first one, usually even more. But Bittle didn’t have that experience. He bought into the romance bullshit that society vomits out – the first love is the best one and the one that lasts forever. Of course he was pissed off that he wasn’t your first, if you see it from his shoes.”

Jack sat there, silently thinking of what Kent said. “Seeing it in that perspective makes sense. I guess I can see why he got so upset.”

On an impulse, he added, “You do know that you were my first love, right?”

Kent smiled crookedly, looking down. “I wasn’t too sure, honestly, especially after the OD. But yeah, thanks for telling me. It’s good to know that my first love was shared.”

Jack gently grabbed Kent’s hand, squeezed it, before letting go.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The week with Kent ends.

It was the morning of the friendly hockey match. As Jack’s alarm turned on, he silently turned it off as he lay in bed, thinking of the day before, covering his eyes with his arm.

_Jack had attended only part of the KPF Opening. He saw the official ribbon being cut by those silly giant scissors. However, only a select group of people were allowed the tour inside the building, which did not include Jack. It was just as well. He only had eyes for Kent._

_The Kent Parson making the speech, looking charismatic, majestic, stately – this was a Kent that Jack had only seen once before, back at the Las Vegas Gala. It was a Kent Parson that seemed so far ahead of him, so much more mature, so much more distant and impersonal. And yet, despite this Kent Parson being so beyond his grasp, Jack couldn’t help but follow him continually with his eyes. It was as if his heart was beating Kent’s name, his blood pumping to the rhythm of this man._

_They had agreed to meet at Martha’s rink that night for a quick practice together. The Cats took the night off; they would meet with the rest of the pro hockey players and practice early in the morning at the Bruins’ TD Gardens._

_He arrived first, warming up on the ice at Martha’s rink. Skating around, he couldn’t stop thinking of Kent. Kenny. They were going to play together on Saturday; and then what? How could he go back to his life, away from Kent and the joys he brought to Jack? How could they let these now fragile, gossamer spaces for each other, the Jack-and-Kent spaces in their lives be blown away in the wind as they went back to their own commitments and choices?_

_And yet, when Kent arrived, tired but bright-eyed, golden hair tied back, Jack said nothing of his thoughts. Instead, he smiled back at the happy grin when they realized they had gotten their “No Look-One Timer” move down. He basked in the glow of Kent’s satisfaction as Jack’s “Kenny-sensor” knew where he was, no matter where on the ice. Jack just wanted to Be, wanted to still Time, as they practiced for the last time together, alone, this week filled with Jack-and-Kent._

As Jack moved his arm getting out of his thoughts, he was surprised by the tears that had formed.

He also had a vague urge to take more of his pills to calm these turbulent thoughts; _thank god I only have today’s dosage._

He clamored out of bed, grabbing his phone and his journal.

He chronicled his urge; _I’ll need to talk with Shana about this when I see her on Monday._

He pulled up his favorite meditation app on his phone.

Breathed in.

Breathed out.

Calmed down, imagining being on the ice until he heard the susurrus of his skates rather than his pills.

_I will talk with Kent later today. I can. Remember: Be Better._

_In the meantime, I will play this game and we will have fun._

_I can Be Better. I know I can._

 

 

 

Kent and Jack _creamed_ the other team. They perfected their Parson-Zimmermann No Look-One Timer; the poor Cats goalie on the opposing team had no chance in preventing the puck from getting in the net when they had the opportunity to do their signature move.

And yet, their teammates also scored goals, as they all knew hockey was a fucking team sport, despite what reporters write. _I bet the news will pick up on this exhibition game and comment on Kent and me playing together._ Jack saw that the other volunteer Bruins and Falconers had underestimated the skills of the Cats; while the Cats on the other team were able to play together, they weren’t able to mesh with the stranger pros. That lack of unity cost them, and Kent’s team won a ridiculous 8-1.

Immediately after the win, both Jack and Kent were overwhelmed with spectators swarming the ice to celebrate their victory. Amidst the random chaos, Jack spotted his parents hustling over to him.

“Maman! Papa!” he shouted, surprised.

After their eye-opening phone call back in June, his texts and phone calls ceased. While he knew, intellectually, why they strived so hard to protect him, he couldn’t help the resentfulness curl in his gut when he thought of them. _They need to let me be an adult. They need to let me grow._

“Jack! Congratulations!” Alicia gave her son a warm embrace. “We had to be on Boston for Bob’s foundation, so we came early to catch your game.” She gave him an admonishing look. “We haven’t much from you, so we took some initiative. Surprised, darling?” she smiled gently to take out the sting in her words.

“Jack! You played great! These Cats are quite good, too; they should be in the league, not playing as amateurs! And your ‘No Look-One Timer’ with Parson – I see you two still have that down!” Bad Bob enthused. “I want to meet the C of this team! I can help give him pointers if he wants, what a great bunch of players!”

As both Bad Bob and Alicia gently nudged him away from the center of the ice and Kent, who seemed similarly inundated with people, Jack looked hopelessly at Kenny. “Text you soon?” he mouthed to Kent, when Jack caught his eye. Kent nodded before rolling his eyes towards the horde around him, and smiling sheepishly at Jack, who returned the grin back.

_Our lives are catching up to us already,_ Jack despaired. _I need to talk to Kent tonight,_ he vowed.

 

 

 

Bob and Alicia insisted on having a late lunch with Jack. However, he was able to contact Kent, who was also forced into a meal with the other members of KPF and various people of the Bruins, the Falconers and the league itself.

_Meet up for dinner tonight?_ Texted Jack, while in the car with his parents.

_I don’t know if I can for dinner, but I should be able to meet with you afterwards, if it’s not too late for you._ Kent responded a half an hour later when Jack was at the restaurant, in a private room with his parents.

_Not a problem; I planned to drive back to Providence around noon, so I’ll be fine. How about you? Aren’t you flying back early tomorrow to Vegas?_ Jack wrote, while his parents talked about the specials of the day as they decided what to order.

_I can sleep on the plane, so no worries. I’ll text you later when I have a better idea what time we can meet. Is that alright?_ Kent answered.

_Yes. Hope your lunch is fun._ Jack furtively wrote.

_Fun? Ha ha. Boring, boring, boring is more like it. Oh, I gotta go. Shannon, my KPF PR manager – shit, she’s glaring at me. Crap. Talk to you later!_ Kent ended the text.

“Jack, who are you texting and what did they say to make you smile so much?” asked Alicia genially.

“Oh, um, sorry. That was Kent. Kent Parson. Ah, we were making plans for tonight,” mumbled Jack.

Alicia’s serene smile dropped before she pasted it back on. Bob outright scowled. “Do you think that’s a good idea, Jack? He hasn’t been a positive influence on you in the past,” she added.

“He was very rude to me when I saw him last,” Bob said. “I see that he hasn’t changed very much since the Q,” he further commented.

Jack mentally groaned. _Crisse. They’re always going to blame him, aren’t they?_

“Maman Papa – Kent did not cause my overdose. He did nothing to cause it. Um, I’ve been working with a therapist this summer, and she’s been helping me with a lot of things. Can you, um, just listen to me?” _I didn’t expect to do this right now, but I think I’m ready. No time like the presence, eh?_

After he got their nods of assent, he looked fully at Alicia. “Maman, I haven’t been calling you as much, because we’ve been working on helping me control my anxiety. Shana, my therapist – she’s helping me identify my triggers. She’s helping me learn new ways to handle the anxiety when I can’t avoid the triggers. While I’ll never be without anxiety – it’s the way my brain is set up – she’s helped so I don’t have to be so dependent on others anymore. We’re also looking into seeing what other anti-anxiety meds are out there, that may be more effective and not be addicting.”

Alicia looked stricken. “Oh, Jack, you are never a burden; I never thought of your phone calls as a chore. Please, please call me whenever you get your attacks. I always want to help.”

Jack internally winced. “Maman, thank you for all of your help, I truly appreciate it. However, I’m twenty-seven years old. I’m old enough, beyond old enough to start managing my anxiety independently. I _want_ control over my care now. Back after the OD, I wasn’t ready to manage it on my own, and I’m immeasurably grateful for all the time, efforts and care you and Papa have given me. However, now I’m ready to help myself.”

Jack ignored Maman’s protests as he faced Bob. “Papa, I am also grateful for your love. I know that after the Draft you probably burnt some bridges to keep the details of my OD away from the media. I’m also aware that when I enrolled at Samwell, you pulled some strings to make sure I got to play with their hockey team even though it’s generally against the rules for players who were in the Q to play for an NCAA team. I know that you did these things because of your love and care for me.”

After Bob’s slow nod, Jack took a deep breath and continued. “But Papa, you don’t need to try and protect me anymore. I know that you’ve been trying very hard to help me ever since I came out last year. I appreciate the efforts, I truly do. But – this time, your actions harmed rather than helped. Had I known that I should have been an active role model for the public, maybe I could have saved some kids. Papa – “

Jack raising his voice as Bob tried to interject, “This past season was very difficult for me. However, if I had known about those teens who died, maybe I would have done more earlier, and last year would’ve been better, not just for other gay teens, but also for myself.”

Bob’s face went slack. “So I made things worse for you?” he asked miserably.

Jack closed his eyes, clenching his fists. “Oui, Papa,” he whispered.

During the ongoing silence, Jack opened his eyes and looked up. Both Papa and Maman had tears in their eyes. _I know we need to have this conversation. I never thought it would hurt so much for everyone, though._

“Papa, Maman –” he started. “I know, I know that you both love me very much. Maman, I know you gave up your acting career after the OD, willingly and unselfishly, to take care of me and to be there for me. You never, ever complained about letting your career go; and I know that I healed faster because you stayed with me. When I need happy memories right after rehab, my times with you watching your movies and making fun of the historical inaccuracies are some that I think of.” Alicia gave an involuntary sniff, before her public mask came back on. And yet, the tear that escaped her eye indicated how strong Jack’s words were affecting her.

Jack continued. “Papa, I also noticed how, after my OD, you had suddenly stayed at home, more than ever before. I know you gave out less interviews, went to less hockey games; you let yourself fade from the spotlight, so that you could be there for me. Like Maman, you never, ever complained what you gave up for me. Afterwards, when I moved out of home, you never criticized my choices, even when they seemed wrong to you. You never made me feel ashamed of my decisions.” Bob stoically looked at Jack, listening to this; the trembling in his hands was his only tell that he was not calm.

Jack paused before continuing. “Papa, Maman, it’s time for me to make my own mistakes. I need to learn how to deal with my decisions. When I confront the consequences, I learn from them and grow to be a better person. And yes, it can hurt, or be fucking awful – but ultimately, I become a better person. I need to do that. I spent a lot of the past eight years, not having to deal with my decisions. I wasn’t ready then; but I am now. I need to.”

Jack grasped his necklace. _Now for the hard part._ “I know that the two of you have a lot of guilt for the OD. I imagine you’re blaming yourselves for it happening; and it’s easier to blame Kenny, rather than dealing with your guilt. However, that OD wasn’t anyone’s fault. I am an addict. I was then; and I am now. No one forced me to take those pills. Maman, you nor your career did not. Papa, you nor your hockey history did not. Kent Parson did not. I am the one who chose to abuse the meds; and when I OD’ed on them, that was my choice alone. Please, please listen to my words. I am an addict. I, alone, am the one who made the decision to abuse my pills, which led to my OD,” he finished.

 

 

 

Lunch was a very quiet affair after Jack finished. Neither Bob nor Alicia said much. When Jack suggested that, if they wanted, they should use therapy to help go through their emotions, Maman only nodded, tight-lipped. Her luminous eyes continued to be full of tears, however, and she only picked at her salad niçoise. Papa made some small talk about the Boston Cats, but Jack could see how his hands continued to shake as he ate a few bites of his grilled chicken.

When they separated, Maman gave Jack a tight hug. “I love you very much,” he whispered in Alicia’s ear. “As do I,” she responded, giving him a tremulous smile as they separated. He said the same to Bob when they embraced, who only held him tighter before he let his son go.

It hurt. It physically hurt his stomach, feeling like he ate boulders, to see them, the people who most supported him and gave up so much of their own lives for him, to see them so crushed. He knew he had to talk to them; he didn’t realize that separating from them, cutting the cord so to speak, would be so painful. _Crisse. I didn’t realize that growing up can be so fucking raw,_ he miserably thought.

As he waited for Kent to text, he wandered the streets around his hotel. He found a small café, hidden between two large buildings and decided to stay there for a bit. After he ordered and received a black coffee with a sandwich and a slice of cake, he checked his phone to respond to texts that he hadn’t gotten to answer in the past week. He saw that Shitty texted him right after the exhibition game.

_Dude, that was sweet! When the Boston Cats play more games, let me know. I’d love to see them! Hey, maybe we can see them together when you’re free!_

As Jack thought of how he’d respond, he realized that he wanted to see Shitty again. At that moment, Jack realized how much he missed him and his casual, aggressive friendship and love. Jack had stopped responding to Shitty over the past year, and thought of his mantra, _Be Better. I want to be friends with him again._

Jack texted of how he’d like that, and that if Shitty were available in August, or even in September before the season officially started, they should hang out. He smiled widely at Shitty’s response of _Yes!!!!! You gorgeous hockey beaut!!!!_  

He also saw that he received a text from Bitty: _Hi, Jack! I saw your game! That was wonderful! Do you have a moment to call me?_

_Huh, I wonder what he wants to talk about. Maybe that e-mail about PTSD?_ Thought Jack. He answered that he’d have time tomorrow evening. _After I get back to Providence, I can talk with Bits. I hope that goes well._

 

 

 

He eventually went back to his hotel room. Kent had texted that he wasn’t going to be able to be free until late, but that he’d drop by Jack’s room and they could hang out there if he wanted.

_Yeah, that’s fine. We can order room service if we’re still hungry._ Jack answered.

Kent was correct; it was after 9 that night when Jack finally received a text of _At your hotel. Room number?_

While Jack had waited, he decided to write in his journal. Shana recommended that he do so regularly, to help him organize and identify his thoughts and emotions. He neglected it for most of the past week, but thought it would be a good idea tonight, especially since he didn’t quite know what to express to Kent. In fact, he found he had a lot to write about, and lost track of time until Kent had texted. Jack closed his journal. _I hope it helped, although I’m still at a loss as to what to say to Kent._

When Jack answered the door, Kent looked exhausted. Dark bags were under his eyes. He was pale under his tan. His shirt collar looked limp, having lost its crispness. His hair was rumpled, as part of it escaped the hair tie.

“Hi, Jack,” Kent breathed out. “Sorry it’s so late; people like to talk so fucking much, and they weren’t even saying anything helpful. It’s tiring to pretend to care.”

“Uh, sorry; should we have just canceled? You look like crap.” Even Jack winced when he said that. “Uh, no, that came out wrong –” as he tried to correct himself.

Kent started laughing. “No, you’re right – I do look like crap. I’m tired as hell, and I’ve been lying through my teeth to get those league bastards to help with KPF. No, I appreciate your honesty, it’s the first truthful thing I’ve heard after the exhibition game.” He was still chuckling, shaking his head.

“Um, well, are you hungry? We can get room service,” Jack suggested lamely.

“Sure! Wasn’t able to eat a whole helluva lot so yeah, I’m gonna order a bunch of food,” Kent grinned. “Give me the menu! Hope you don’t mind the high bill, Jack,” he smirked.

After they called in their order, Kent plopped on the bed, falling on his back and putting his arm on his face. “Zimms,”, he began, “I really am sorry that it’s so late. This is typically the way my day goes: I kiss the ass of people and organizations who have a shit ton of money, and hope that they’ll donate some to KPF. It’s a lot of being polite even when they don’t deserve it, and when they give me a crumb, I have to smile gratefully and beg for more. I don’t know how other people do it, but when KPF becomes self-sustaining, I’m outta there and playing some good hockey.”

“Uh, Kenny,” Jack began, “I had no idea. When I was at the Gala, you looked so much at ease; I didn’t realize how difficult your job actually is. Do other people know how hard you’re working?”

Kent laughed mirthlessly. “Honestly, not to the fullest extent. I feel really ungrateful complaining, so my friends don’t really know how exhausting it all can be. I mean, essentially, I’m just hobnobbing with the rich and famous, right? My job, basically, is to look pretty and be amiable. How difficult is that, really? It’s not like the way Tim’s saving the world, one computer program at a time.”

“But –” Jack interrupted. _He really doesn’t think that he’s doing as much as this Tim guy is. I need to let him know somehow._

“No, Jack – Argh. I’m just feeling whiny right now. Hey, can I take a shower here? I’m feeling grimy,” Kent talked over him.

“Uh, sure,” answered Jack bewilderedly. “Um, you can borrow my clothes if you want, I have a pair of clean sweats and a t-shirt.”

The relief on Kent’s face reassured Jack. “Yeah, Jack, that’s perfect. Thanks,” he smiled, as he got up to walk to the bathroom.

 

 

 

While Kent was in the shower, room service arrived. Jack stuck his head in the bathroom through the partially open door as he hollered, “Food’s here!” to let Kent know. He also placed the extra clothes on the ground in front of the door for Kent to change into.

As Jack waited, watching PBS Frontline, Kent sauntered in. He looked refreshed and decidedly better than when he entered the hotel room half an hour ago. “That was one of my better ideas. Okay! Food!” he grinned, sitting in the chair in front of the table and promptly devouring the steak that he ordered. Jack slowly ate a chicken strip as he watched Kent eat.

“Hey, do I have food on my face? Why’re you staring at me and grinning that dopey grin?” Kent chirped Jack. “You’re freaking me out,” he smirked, or as much as he could smirk and have a mouth full of steak.

“You look better. And I see you still don’t have any table manners,” chirped Jack back, grabbing another strip to eat.

“Well, look at you – you’re still eating chicken strips. Zimms, they don’t have as much protein as steak. Steak is the top choice. Cow is king. Chicken is hella boring and for little kids. What are you, five?” again chirped Kenny as he smiled and cut another piece to shove in his mouth.

Jack laughed. “Kenny, that was the exact same argument you made when we were in the Q. Can’t think of another argument for steak, eh?” he chirped back.

And so their meal went, chirping back and forth. _It feels like we’re back in the Q. During the happy parts. This is good._

After they finished and put the empty plates in the hotel hallway, Kent again flopped onto the bed, lying down. Jack tentatively lay on the bed next to him, making sure that their bodies weren’t touching. They lay there silently; Jack could only hear Kent’s even breathing. It was long enough that Jack thought he fell asleep before Kent broke the silence.

“Jack,” he began. “I had a great time this week with you. But now it’s over, isn’t it? We’re both going back to the real world. Our lives don’t really intersect, so realistically, we won’t be seeing a whole lot of each other.” He sat up, looking down at his hands in his lap.

“I’m going to miss you, though. I already know I’m going to miss this week like crazy.” He grimaced.

“Zimms, I wrote in that letter, that a part of me will always be in love with you. But honestly, I thought that the Jack I fell in love with disappeared after your OD. Instead, I found out this week that that part of you, that soft, funny, affectionate Zimms that I was so damn captivated with, is still there.”

Kent put his hand through his hair. “Christ, Jack – I don’t want to fall in love with you again. I don’t want to be in any romantic relationship with anyone to begin with. I’m too damn busy and honestly, I don’t know if I’m emotionally ready. There were other reasons why Tim and I broke up. Essentially, I couldn’t be as open to him as I should’ve been. He knew but was willing to wait for me. I didn’t think it was fair for him, however, so that’s why we broke it off.” He frowned at his hands, clenched on his lap.

Jack sat there, listening with his whole body as Kent talked. When it became quiet again, he sat up as well, slowly moving his hand on top of Kent’s clenched fist, smoothing and stroking it until it opened for him to hold.

“Kenny,” he started, looking at their hands together. “I’m not ready to be in any romantic relationship, either. There’s too much of myself I need to work on. But this week was also perfect for me. It’s difficult for me to process what I feel, but I know is that I need you in my life somehow.”

He cleared his throat as his hold became tighter. “I need you. You call me out on my shit. No one else does that. You challenge me and expect me to do better and improve. I know you do that because you believe in me, and you believe that I’m strong enough to deal with my mistakes. Crisse, Kenny,” as he started to speak faster, “ _I_ don’t quite believe in myself. But you do, and you always have.”

Again he coughed, finding it harder to talk. “I saw how busy we both were today. I can see how, if we decide to remain friends, we’re going to have to really work at it and make time for each other. And I know we’ll both make mistakes, and we’ll get pissed off at each other, and there will be times when we wonder if it’s worth it; but when I think of us saying goodbye and not being friends anymore –“

He couldn’t speak anymore. Their hands blurred as he could finally feel the tears escaping. He eventually whispered, “It – it terrifies me. I know I’ll regret it if I let you go. We need to _try._ ”

As he grasped Kent’s hand, he tried to wipe the tears away with the other, laughing at himself. “I swear, Kenny – I don’t really cry very much. I only cry around you,” he tried to chirp.

He finally looked up at Kenny, whose own eyes were full of tears. Kenny, who whispered back, “Okay, we’ll try,” as he stroked Jack’s hair back lovingly. Kenny, who leaned over slowly, slowly, and gave Jack a gentle, soft, chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth. Kenny, who finally pulled his hand away from Jack’s to embrace him warmly and safely.

_Kenny, Kenny, Kenny,_ as Jack’s heart beat to his name. _This feels right. This feels safe. Kenny._

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack reflects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Last chapter. Thanks for all the kudos and support!   
> \- I may add side stories or off-shoots to this series. I'll see, depending on how much time IRL I have. (Life's gotten really, really busy for the past couple of weeks.)  
> \- Again, thank you for giving this story a chance. :)

It had been almost a year since that Boston exhibition game. KPF finally mass-produced a Kent Doll with its own iridescent jersey, all profits going to the organization. Kent immediately sent one to Jack when they first came out; “Zimms,” he wrote in the enclosed letter, “Whenever you miss me, you’ll have this as a substitute.” Jack immediately sent a Zimmermann doll to Kent with a short note: “Same.” KPF and Falconers loved the dolls, as they both posted the dolls daily in places they went. The likes were insane, and the public ate it all up.

Mattel even got in the action. They got in touch with the Falconers and KPF; and a collectable set of the Zimmermann and Parson dolls will be released in time for the Christmas season, again with profits going to KPF. (Kent was over the moon when he heard, and immediately preordered ten sets. “Wait, why ten?” “Because I know there’ll be random friends who’ll want them. And I can always have extras and keep them in their original boxes; they’ll be worth millions one day, Jack, millions. I know these things.”)

 

 

 

Jack’s relationship with his parents slowly improved after their heart-to-heart talk. Bob and Alicia ended up going to therapy, working out their own guilt that they never let go before. Jack attended a couple of group therapy sessions together, which were extremely emotional for everyone. And yet, yet –

Despite the pain of letting go, they all got along better, now. Both Bob and Alicia still sometimes got in long-established habits, trying to protect Jack from the world, but now they were willing to change and to listen. Jack realized, as their relationship began to improve, that he saw them more as equals. While they were still his parents, they became, in his eyes, adults with their own needs and wants and desires independent of himself. That, more than anything, helped with their relationship. _Huh. I think we’ve become closer than before. That’s good._

He did get them a sweet older dog from the pound. Bob immediately fell in love with Rags and posted many pictures. Kent once complained that Rags was almost as popular as Kit Purrson. (Jack laughed at Kent, hard, until Kenny hung up on him in a huff.) Bad Bob also became more active with his charity, the Zimmermann Foundation. While they still focused on underprivileged youth who wanted to play hockey, he worked with KPF as well, at the request of Jack.

Alicia got back to her old friends in her modeling and acting career. While she never fully warmed up to Kent, she apologized to him and agreed to help with his group. Thanks to her, KPF became the hottest charity in Hollywood this past season; the foundation received more-than-projected donations and contributions, accelerating KPF’s plans to expand existing shelters and to open new ones in locations where they were needed desperately. After Jack thanked her for her help, she smiled at him. “Jack, Kent may not be my favorite person, but anyone can see that he’s doing a lot of good.” She hesitated before adding, “I was wrong to blame him for your OD. I was also wrong to have cut him out of our lives. I feel that I owe him a little something for the wrongs he received from us, at least.”

When Jack asked Kent what he thought during one Skype talk after he replayed the conversation, Kenny shrugged.

“Jack,” he said, “I understand why they ditched me. I was hurt, then, but I’m not anymore. Honestly, I’m _way_ over it. And anyway, my relationship with you was always way more important than my relationship with your parents. Sure, I wanted better parents than the ones I actually had, but what can you do? Besides, I have Jacky-Bear and Ed as my surrogate parents now,” he added affectionately, rolling his eyes.

He shrugged again. “Anyway, I’m just glad Alicia agreed to help KPF. Because of her connections, we’ve gotten a helluva lot more publicity and donations than we anticipated. So it’s all good.”

 

 

 

Jack and Bittle still texted each other, but they were getting less frequent as time passed by. At this point, he mostly heard from Bits via the post-Samwell group chat, and his last text was about a month ago. They _did_ have that talk about Jack’s e-mail and PTSD, however, after he arrived in Providence from the exhibition game in Boston.

_“Bits, I’m sorry for your freshman year,” Jack immediately started. “I was a total asshole to you and I never apologized for that. That was wrong of me; you deserved a lot of apologies for that.”_

_“Okay, honey,” Bittle said, slowly. “What’s prompted you to say all this to me now?”_

_“Uh, I’m seeing a therapist right now. Um, I see her a lot; two, sometimes three times a week, depending on my schedule. One of the things that I’m learning is how to take responsibility for my actions, and I realized that I really messed up with you.”_

_He breathed. “Bits, I think you have PTSD; I don’t really know, but it sounds a bit like it. It’s not normal to get so frightened of a check that you’ll faint; and while you don’t ever have to tell me what caused that reaction, I think you should be able to address it, especially if it really is PTSD. I just don’t want you to get hurt, if, you react unexpectedly by fainting while you’re in a dangerous situation, making things even worse for you.”_

_He continued. “Those checking practices back in your freshman and sophomore year were bullshit, and I’m afraid I might have messed you up even more because of them. I know it’s your choice, but I hope you can get yourself help.”_

_Eric laughed wetly. “Jack, honey, I’m surprised you still care for me. Oh heck, this is the most open you’ve been since France last year. What happened to you? Was it all therapy?”_

_Jack smiled a little. “George telling me about those boys dying was an eye-opener. I realized that I had to be better than what I was before. I know I shut you out this last season, and we both weren’t communicating with each other very well.” He paused. “I’m learning how to open up more. It’s hard, but Shana – my therapist – has been helping me out a lot.”_

_He finally added, “And Bits, I’m sorry for having shut you out so much last year. I should have talked to you; I should have tried harder, but I didn’t. I’m sorry.”_

He had heard from Lardo that Bittle did end up going to therapy to address his PTSD. She said that, while there was still a lot of work to be done, Bits seemed happier and healthier. Through the grapevine, he had heard that Bittle had a new boyfriend, and that he had gotten promoted to be the lead in creating and testing recipes featured in some of the Food Network shows. He also volunteered heavily with a New York-based gay pride center, becoming a huge advocate for the LGBT+ crowd; and in fact, that was where he met his new love.

Kent looked thoughtfully at Jack when he shared that Bittle had a boyfriend. “Are you really okay with that? And remember, you have to be honest.” They had established that there would always be truth between them, no matter how much it could potentially hurt. They had to be; that was the only way their long-distance friendship?... whatever they had would work.

Jack looked away, pondering. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I really am. I think,” talking slowly, finding the right words to articulate what he was feeling, “While I really loved Bits for who he was, I was more in love with what he could give me. I wanted someone to love and take care of me, who would always agree with me, who would put up with me not giving much back. Bittle ended up doing all of those things and it ended up that I _didn’t_ actually want someone like that.”

He added pensively, “I think Bits felt the same. I mean, I don’t doubt he did love me, but he wanted the Prince who saved him and gave him a ‘Happy Ever After’. So to answer your question, yeah Kent: I’m genuinely happy for Bits.”

Kent smiled a little, which turned into a smirk when he noticed, “I see you still haven’t replaced the throw pillows on your couch. Did you ever find out why Bittle wanted them?”

“Ha ha, Kenny,” monotoned Jack. “I’m waiting for you to visit; we can get some together. Since you haven’t visited my apartment yet, it’s your damn fault I don’t have any.” He inwardly smiled when Kent’s face softened with joy.

 

 

 

Shitty became one of Jack’s best friends again. He always responded to Jack’s random texts; and sure enough, when they had time, they would try to attend a Boston Cats game. Shitty also liked showing up in Providence during random times. (“I need a slumber party with my favorite Canadian beaut!” answered Shitty when Jack first asked why he was at his apartment.) At first, Jack couldn’t figure out why, until one night he realized that Shitty needed Jack as much as Jack needed Shitty.

_One night, Shitty just showed up late. Jack was annoyed; he had to wake up early the next day, and Shitty banging on his door, waking him up, wasn’t putting Jack in a good mood. However, when he opened the door, his growl stopped as he saw how devastated Shitty looked._

_“Shitty, what’s wrong?” Jack blurted._

_Shitty looked at him, eyes exhausted and weary. “Can we just cuddle tonight? We can talk later. I just need… hell. I just need to cuddle.”_

_In the morning (Jack postponed his morning run and decided not to attend the optional practice), Shitty drank a cup of coffee. It ended up that his girlfriend, a fellow law student that Jack met once, had broken up with Shitty a couple of days ago._

_“Jack,” Shitty said as he unashamedly cried. “I was going to marry her. We were going to start our own law firm, taking on pro-bono cases for the disenfranchised, while charging a fuck-ton of money to the rich bastards who’d want to hire us. Jack,” he sobbed. I was going to fucking propose to her over the summer. I even bought a fucking ring. Fuck!” pounding his fist on the table. “Fuck,” he cried, putting his head on the table._

That was an interesting couple of days. Jack never, ever comforted Shitty before; it had always been the other way around. However, he tried to be with Shitty as much as he could, listening as much as he can, and cuddling as much as Shitty wanted. Jack didn’t mind; however, he drew the line with nudity. (“I don’t care how sad you are. We are _not_ going to naked cuddle.” “Ah, but why not?” “Shitty. I’m not comfortable with it.” “Oh. Well, why didn’t you say so earlier?”)

After that weekend, they grew closer than they had ever been, even when they lived at the Haus. In addition, after Shitty’s breakdown, Jack felt more equal with him. _Now I can give him something. Shitty always listened to me, but now I can listen to him when he needs someone to be there._ It was a foreign, but good feeling for Jack.

When Shitty came over to Jack’s apartment, he at first scoffed at Jack’s “Be Better” poster, until Jack, haltingly, hesitantly, explained why it was so important for him to remember that motto, and what had happened the past season – all of it, even the parts that made him feel deeply ashamed. After Jack stopped talking, Shitty just hugged Jack as tight as he could. He never, ever made a comment on the poster ever again.

Although Kenny never requested it, Jack figured that Shitty would want to volunteer for KPF, as the organization fell firmly onto Shitty’s side of “makes the world a better place and also fucks the white patriarchy” war. Jack introduced him to Boston’s KPF LGBT+ crisis center. Shitty not only got his other law school friends involved with KPF as they volunteered by helping with legal advice on various projects, but he also finagled a donation from his estranged father to give a substantive (or as Shitty yelled, “Fuck-ton! Boatload! A huge shit!”) amount. KPF also offered Shitty a permanent position in the Las Vegas office after he received his JD. (“Are you going to take it?” Jack asked when he found out about the offer. “Hell, yeah! The world needs KPF, and I’ve gotta help them succeed,” he determinedly responded.)

Jack complained to Kent that night. “Kenny, you’re taking away my best friend,” he whined. “Why’d you offer Shitty the KPF Las Vegas job?”

Kent laughed. “First of all, Shitty is very good at what he does. I was going to offer more money if he refused the position.” He added slyly, “Plus, if I get all your close friends to move out west, then you’ll have more motivation to come out as well. Well, maybe not to live – unless you request a trade or something – but visiting’s good, yeah?”

Jack’s smile faltered. _I think Kent misses me as much as I miss him._ He sighed. “Kenny, you know I’ll visit you as soon as I can. My season’s just so busy when it’s in gear.”

Kent looked down. “Yeah, I know. I just – I just miss you more than I thought I would. Anyway,” a forced grin on his face, “Let me tell you what Shannon’s making me do in a couple of weeks. You’ll think it’s funny…”

As Jack let Kent change the subject, he couldn’t help but think, _What am I going to do after Shitty leaves? My contract will be up when he graduates. Am I going to stay with the Falconers? Am I going to stay in the league? Should I try to get traded to the West Coast if I continue with professional hockey?_

 

 

 

Jack also had that promised dinner with Tater right before September, which reignited a strong friendship between the two of them. In fact, over the past year, they became even closer than during Jack’s rookie year. _It’s funny, but I never thought I’d consider Tater to be one of my closest friends as well. Huh. Shana’s right; I guess I need to learn how to open up more to people I can trust,_ Jack contemplated as he thought of that meal back in August _._

_As they ate a homecooked Russian meal in Tater’s warm kitchen, Mashkov watched Jack with narrowed eyes. “Okay, Tater, spit it out,” Jack finally demanded._

_“What going on with you and Kent Parson? You two dating now?” he asked, innocently._

_“What? What the hell? Where did that come from?” Jack sputtered, after he choked on his water and almost coughed out a lung._

_“In Boston, you two seem close. He made you relax. You laughed more. I see smiles you gave him, and I see how he look at you. So you two dating? I cool if you are,” Tater putting his hands up. “Just curious.”_

_“Uh, no.” Jack sighed. “Look – You’ve heard those rumors that Kent and I were involved during our time in the Q, yeah?” After Tater nodded, he continued. “They were true. We were – we were really close. Those times – those times were really hard for me but being with Kenny was also one of the best times of my life.” He paused, adding, “We also broke up in a bad way, so there’s a lot of history between the two of us.”_

_“But you two seem more than okay now!” puzzled Tater._

_“Well, yeah. We finally talked it out, and that one week friendship became permanent. Yeah, yeah, you were right,” he added as Tater smugly grinned._

_Jack added, “Things were really bad for the both of us after the Q, so we’re taking it slow and seeing if we can be friends without killing each other.”_

_Tater looked thoughtful. “So if friendship good, you two date then?”_

_“Uh, I don’t know. Um, we haven’t talked about that,” muddled Jack._

_Tater looked up from his musings. “Hmm. So if Kent Parson date other person while you two are friends, you be okay?”_

_Jack was about to say he’d be fine when he stopped, really thinking of Tater’s words. “Uh – Um, no. No, I probably wouldn’t like it, but I can’t tell him that.”_

_He looked in Mashkov’s eyes. “I just got him back in my life. Even if we only remain friends, I don’t want to lose him because of something as stupid as my own jealousy. And besides,” he looked down, touching his necklace, “I don’t own Kenny. He has a right to date other people. I don’t, nor should I, control him, eh?” he smiled weakly._

_Tater gave him a sympathetic grin. “Sound like you good friend to Kent Parson, and that you care much for him. Maybe you friend only now, but –” his grin turned bigger, “I think he attracted to you, too.”_

_“And call me ‘Alexei’! Good friends call me that! And you good friend now, Zimmboni!” he beamed brightly as Jack smiled back, relieved that the subject changed._

 

 

 

This hockey season was better than the last. Jack started the season apologizing to his team in the locker room before their first practice. While there were still some side-eyes, and the games were still difficult to deal with, what with the homophobic slurs and the harder-than-usual checks, it was better, as he felt support, instead of censure, from the franchise.

As the rest of the Falconers began to believe in Jack’s sincerity, they also began to trust him as he talked with his teammates, working with them, helping them and accepting their help as well; and as a result, they were able to protect him better on the ice.

They also began to report the slurs and the unnecessary checks to management. While there was no real legal recourse, Georgia promised that documenting the incidents will help make up a case in the future, and that they should continue to report them. With the better teamwork and unity, they played much better to the point where they made the Stanley Cup playoffs before they lost in the first round. _Oh well,_ Jack thought. _We at least made it to the playoffs, and that’s got to count for something, right?_

Still, he called Kenny the night they lost and even though they said very little, Jack lay in bed, hearing Kenny breathe, feeling as if it were just the two of them existing in a world that stood stock-still, as he eventually fell asleep with the phone against his ear. The next morning, as he woke up, Jack noticed that Kenny had hung up, and texted a “Thanks” to him as he climbed out of bed, feeling considerably lighter than he did the night before.  

 

 

 

KPF had decided that the best way for Jack to volunteer his time was to go out in fundraising gatherings and parties, as well as official openings to new centers across the country, gaining more of the public eye. He also became the unofficial liaison between KPF and the NHL. As a result, Jack was extremely thankful for that poor PR intern and all those sessions over the summer where she patiently, very patiently, drilled the proper answers to questions; she saved his ass more than a couple of times when he had many unexpected interviews or questions that required some sort of tact and grace. (He ended up sending her a box full of her favorite fruit tarts, as well as a bonus for the holidays.)

Neither Kenny nor Jack personally liked the unfair boost in the gay-friendly reputation of the NHL. “It’s lipstick on a pig, damnit”, ranted Kenny one night, after a particularly exhausting night of tolerating league officials congratulating themselves on being _so inclusive_. “God, how can you stand their hypocrisy? How can I? Sometimes I just want to punch them and wipe their dumb-ass self-satisfied looks on their faces. Damnit.”

However, the public unity between the NHL and KPF garnered more attention, funds, and patrons for Kent’s charity. When it was Jack’s turn to bellyache, he whined, “All this compromising shit really fucking sucks. Is this what it means to be an adult?”

“Yep,” Kent promptly replied. “Adulting fucking sucks.”

Still, Jack was glad that both the Falconers and KPF wanted him to work with Kenny, as that meant they meet a lot more than they would’ve had the two organizations not decided to work together.

 

 

 

Kenny was due to come over his apartment today, as Jack leaned against the entry to his living room, pondering.  KPF was set to open a new LGBT+ Teen Center in Providence in a couple of days, and it was decided that he would stay at Jack’s place instead of sleeping in a hotel. While Jack couldn’t ever bake like Bittle could, he made sure to buy the good West Coast coffee that Kenny liked, and box full of cookies. ( _I even got them custom-made of Kent’s doll from my favorite bakery._ ) As he looked at his couch without its pillows, he thought that finally, during this trip he and Kenny would buy some. _I’ll make time to shop._ He wandered into the guest bedroom and double-checked to make sure everything was clean. Fresh sheets on the bed? Check. Fluffy towels in the bathroom? Yep.

 _Of course, maybe Kenny won’t need to use that bed,_ a random thought whispered from Jack’s traitorous brain.

They never talked about what they were after that last night in Boston. They texted each other every day and somehow ended up calling or skyping three or four times a week. They visited each other frequently, although that was mostly because of their respective organizations. He met Kenny’s friends ( _scariest experience I’ve ever encountered, that Amy is fucking frightening_ ) and they even visited the penis-cookie bakery together when he attended a fundraiser in San Francisco. When the Falconers played the Aces in Las Vegas, Kenny was at the game as well. Afterwards, they hung out, posing with their dolls and having them “dance” or “gamble” as they wandered up and down the Strip.

Yes, they were friends. They were good, close friends.

And like good friends, they also disagreed at times, and even yelled at each other. They both hung up on the other many times. The difference, however, was that now, someone would call or text back and talk it out calmly and rationally. The difference was that they both would take deep breaths to push down painful, hurtful, spiteful words from spewing forth. The difference was that they learned how to say “I’m sorry” and mean it. So yes, Kenny was his best friend again.

But would they be more?

Jack wanted to be more.

Did Kenny want to be more?

Jack didn’t know.

He inhaled. He knew that Kent didn’t need a grand scene with Jack declaring his feelings, running across campus at graduation, or kissing him in the center of the ice after a Stanley Cup win. It was easier, perhaps, to do those things instead of communicating. Jack knew that even if he tried to do something lavish with Kenny, it would backfire spectacularly. Kenny wanted words. He wanted everything spelled out, clear in the air, no potential for misunderstanding. Kenny’s life was already like a fucking movie, so he didn’t need any of the dramatic events that Bittle loved so much.

 _Okay,_ Jack thought. _Okay. I’ll tell Kenny. I’ll tell him when he gets here, and we’ll be able to talk, and work it out, and communicate._

_And if Kent doesn’t want anything more than friendship, that’s acceptable. I’ll be okay. We’ll both be okay._

Just like it was okay that he didn’t know yet, what was going to happen with his hockey career, whether he was going to stay with the league or not. Just like he knew that he wasn’t even convinced that he _wanted_ to stay with the league and play their games off the ice. He knew he’d have to decide soon; but unlike before, the possibility of an uncertain future looked bright, not dreary, as he began to understand that the many, many paths that diverged from the one he was currently on, all led to their own bright, convoluted, hopeful futures.

As he heard the doorbell ring, he took another breath. Then he turned around and yelled out, “Coming!” as he walked to open his door and a new possibility.

_Be Better. And I can, and I will._

**Author's Note:**

> This was the hardest of the three stories to write. Part of it is because I can relate, personally, much more with Kent and Eric. Jack is a cipher to me, and while I like the canon Zimmermann, he is very much my opposite. As a result, I was very surprised that the Jack in my head had the longest story to tell. This monstrous thing grew to 38K words. This Jack was quite verbose, but hopefully, I edited enough of it so it's not too excessive.
> 
> Also, I didn't intend for Kent to become such an important part of Jack's story. I rewrote this damn thing three times, trying to veer away from Kent, but he kept showing up. The truth is that I didn't want there to be a Pimms; Kenny spent most of his story letting go of Jack, which he finally did, for the betterment of his own emotional growth. He even had a perfect boyfriend! Anyway, if they do end up together (the ending's ambiguous, I hope), it'll be a successful relationship because they're both now adults and have a better handle on their emotions. Right?
> 
> I hope you enjoy this. Thanks for giving this a try!


End file.
